


write love on my skin

by amusewithaview



Series: Nothing but love in view [3]
Category: Fantastic Four (Movieverse), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Based on a Tumblr Post, Body Horror, Breaking the Fourth Wall, DARCY DOES MARVEL, Darcy is the fandom bicycle and I love it, F/F, F/M, Gun Violence, Human Experimentation, Inspired By Tumblr, Minor Illness, Natasha & Darcy friendship 5ever, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Pepper Goddamn Potts, Platonic Soulmates, Poly-what-the-fuckery, Polyamory, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Unethical Experimentation, Vaginal Fingering, gratuitous pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 66,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmates Darcy could have had and the ways they could have met.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(A series of "What if?" ficlets, too brief to stand alone, that diverge from the main continuity of "Nothing but love in view.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll keep this as up-to-date as possible. This is mostly so people looking can find the pairings they want, when they want - although i stand by my opinion that it's more fun to read it without knowing what's coming!

2\. saving (breaking) you, part one = Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes

3\. secret agent (mine) = Darcy Lewis/Phil Coulson

4\. breaking (the ice) and entering (my heart) = Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes

5\. setting boundaries (but I've let loose my heart) = Darcy Lewis/Christine Everhart

6\. hey (I just met you and you're driving me crazy) = Darcy Lewis/Sam Wilson

7\. not supposed to be here (found you, anyways) = Darcy Lewis/Georges Batroc

8\. tattoos (reference jokes) are forever, part one = Darcy Lewis/Johnny Storm

9\. chicken soup (for the soulmate), part one = Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes

10\. tattoos (reference jokes) are forever, part two/continued in a separate story of the same name

11\. chicken soup (for the soulmate), part two/end

12\. the three faces of Eve = Darcy Lewis/Pepper Potts & Darcy Lewis/Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

13\. drunk food (friends and lovers) = Darcy Lewis/James "Rhodey" Rhodes

14\. saving (breaking) you, part two

15\. old-fashioned approach (more direct than you'd expect), part one = Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

16\. saving (breaking) you, part three/continued in a separate story of the same name

17\. honey (this is no trap) = Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow

18\. good morning (it's great to stay up late) = Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton

19\. service with a smile (biting my tongue), part one = Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers

20\. what happens in Vegas (waking up in New York) = Darcy Lewis/Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

21\. service with a smile (biting my tongue), part two

22\. iPod shuffle (serious as cancer)  
\- Darcy Lewis/Phil Coulson/ ?  
\- Darcy Lewis/Maria Hill  
\- Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers  
\- Darcy Lewis/Wanda Maximoff  
\- Darcy Lewis/Bruce Banner

23\. iPod shuffle (rhythm is a dancer)  
\- Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes  
\- Darcy Lewis/Tony Stark  
\- Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton  
\- Darcy Lewis/Bruce Banner/ ?  
\- Darcy Lewis/Fandral/Hogun

24\. call me on a line (call me anytime), part one = Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton

25\. call me on a line (call me anytime), part two

26\. fever dream(ing of you) = Darcy Lewis/ ?

27\. 13 hours (and an oceanic flight) = Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers

28\. the best part of waking up (soulmates in your kitchen) = Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson

29\. the other woman (just don't call me "Jolene") = Darcy Lewis/Betty Ross/ ?

30\. unexpected deliveries = Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff

31\. in which the universe (and the author) makes poor life choices = Darcy Lewis/Wade "Deadpool" Wilson

32\. old-fashioned approach (more direct than you'd expect), part two

33\. iPod shuffle (life is the dance floor)  
\- Darcy/Steve/Bruce/Tony/Bucky/Sam/Clint/Fandral/Hogun  
\- Darcy Lewis/Hank Pym/Janet Van Dyne  
\- Darcy Lewis/Heimdall  
\- Darcy Lewis/Harry Osborne  
\- Darcy Lewis/Daredevil

34\. iPod shuffle (love is the rhythm)  
\- Darcy Lewis/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers  
\- Darcy Lewis/Peter Quill  
\- Darcy Lewis/Namor  
\- Darcy Lewis/Daredevil/Elektra (direct sequel to the Darcy/Daredevil in the previous chapter)  
\- Darcy Lewis/Galaga Guy

35\. iPod shuffle (lift your hands and voices)  
\- Darcy Lewis/Nick Fury  
\- Darcy Lewis/Skye  
\- Darcy Lewis/Jane Foster  
\- Darcy Lewis/Charles Xavier  
\- Darcy Lewis/Dr. Strange


	2. saving (breaking) you

Afterwards, Darcy remembered very little of the day that marked such a massive turning point in her life. Her parents filled in bits and pieces for her, told the story enough times that she might _almost_ have believed their version of events, only, _their_ version was missing something: the one thing that she _did_ remember – _him_.

They had stopped at a roadside rest stop, one of the big ones that referred to itself as an “Oasis” (pretentious much?), on their way to stay at her aunt’s house (yawn) for a family reunion (even bigger, more _dramatic_ yawn). Darcy, newly teenaged and belligerent with it, had wandered away from her parents’ seat in the food court to stretch her legs.

She meandered to the other side of the building and then, with a quick glance thrown back to ensure her folks were where she’d left them, slipped outside. The Illinois air was a bit warmer than what they were experiencing in Wisconsin, and probably a lot nicer than what she could expect in Michigan.

Darcy had been outside for barely a minute when an odd ‘pop pop’ sound came from her right, followed quickly by a screech of tires skidding and a _crash._ She raced for where she’d heard the noise come from, turning a sharp corner around the edge of the building only to find a man seated on the hill beside the road, slowly packing away something shiny and distinctly _gun_ shaped.

He glanced up at her sharp gasp, his stare freezing her in place. She immediately looked down at the gun in his hands, unable to bear meeting his dispassionate scrutiny for more than a moment.

“It’s called a _dragunov_ , кукла. Don’t worry, I doubt you’ll ever see one again.”

Darcy’s eyes shot back up to find cool amusement on his face. She opened her mouth, paused and shut it, then opened it again, finally blurting, “Those are the words on my soulmark. I – I think you’re my soulmate?”

His expression hardened so quickly that she flinched back a little. “Impossible.”

“No, it’s not,” she insisted, “It says – “

“I don’t have a soul.”

Darcy gaped at that pronouncement, stunned into silence while he rapidly finished packing up his gun, stood, and started to walk away. “But I’m _right here_ ,” she said, voice cracking a little over the words.

He paused for a brief moment, but didn’t turn back around, “Go home, little girl.”

“But you’re – “

He spun around just long enough to snarl a vicious: “I don’t _care_ ,” before he continued, disappearing from her sight around another corner in seconds. He was gone, it was almost like he’d never been there.

Darcy’s face felt hot, her eyes scratchy from the threatening press of tears. She watched her soulmate walk away and felt – she didn’t know what she felt. It hurt. The words, they _were_ his words, she was sure of it, felt like they were burning on her chest where they sat dead center on her breastbone.

She walked back to the food court and sat, numb to her parents’ concern over her state and later, their frustration as their travel was delayed for a few hours by some sort of accident on the overpass. She could only sit, hands clenched to stop them trembling while she replayed their encounter over and over and over again in her head.

He said he didn’t have a soul.

He said he _didn’t care_.

He didn’t want her.

He walked away.

Darcy took all her childhood dreams and hopes and wishes and shoved them into a mental file labeled ‘trash.’ She stopped planning her perfect future family (with her soulmate), she shelved her dreams of becoming the first female president and changing the world (with her soulmate). She no longer romanticized what her life (could have been) would be.

It wasn’t as if she never smiled again. She did: she laughed, she enjoyed life, she made new plans – though they were smaller, perhaps a little less grand – to change the world by fixing _people_ instead of _policies_ , she started thinking about her future, she realized that she still _had_ a future.

But though she made friends wherever she went, she never let anyone become _more_.

(didn’t want her he didn’t want her he walked away she never even knew his _name…_ )


	3. secret agent (mine)

“Hey, that’s my iPod!”

The dude in the suit paused, “Right now, it’s the government’s iPod.”

Darcy froze because that was – “Seriously?” She wasn’t sure whether her plaintive question was addressed to the guy in the suit, her _soulmate_ , or the universe in general because really. _Really?_ Him? Here? Right now? _Not the time,_ universe!

He was watching her intently, only he was doing it with his peripherals, so it wasn’t super obvious what he was doing. Darcy could tell, though. She was awesome like that. Plus she recognized the skill: several years of retail taught her how to watch the sketchy customers without making it _look_ like you were watching them.

Since it looked like he was content to wait it out… “I chose polisci for you, you know,” she informed him quietly, taking one small step towards him. She kept her eyes locked on his while she lifted her shirt just enough to flash the line of script that crawled across her stomach, just below her navel. His eyes darted down quickly before returning to her face – and he got props for not taking a detour to her rack on the way.

His lips quirked into a slight smile, “I may have developed a reputation as a bit of a music thief in my search for you.”

Darcy couldn’t help but grin back at him, a fluttery feeling filling her stomach at the sight of his smile. “That mean you’re _not_ gonna confiscate my tunes?” she asked hopefully.

His smile morphed into a smirk and Darcy felt her heart go pitty-pat: “No, but I _will_ take extra special care to get them back to you, Ms. Lewis.” With that, he turned and walked back to where the bulk of the thugs were, whistling a little while he directed them.

Waitaminute, was he _in charge?_

And whistling _Secret Agent Man?!_

Well, damn. He really _was_ her soulmate.


	4. breaking (the ice) and entering (my heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I really enjoy coming up with SUPER CHEESY titles for these ficlets.

They had blown the lab up. _Again._

Darcy stood in the hall outside, where she had escaped to when the cloud of vibrant purple gas finally cleared enough to let her find her way out. She tried _very_ hard to breathe in _only_ through her mouth while she waited with arms folded and foot tapping against the ground.

Minutes after her escape, Bruce, Tony, and Steve stumbled out of the mist.

“It smells like _freesia_ ,” Bruce muttered, dazed.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said miserably.

“I’m not,” Tony declared.

“You will be in a minute,” Darcy announced, causing all three men to spin to face her with varying degrees of alarm on their faces. “JARVIS,” she called, watching Tony’s face run through the surprise-chagrin-assessment-outrage gamut that always followed one of his fuck-ups, or at least the ones she _caught_.

“Yes, Ms. Lewis?”

“Run Darcy override Thor-Niner-Thor-Diego-Niner-Mjolnir - ”

“Oh, come on!”

“Until next Jane’s-soulmate’s-day.”

“Yes, Ms. Lewis.”

“That’s not fair! Steve, tell Darcy she’s not supposed to use her overrides as – as _punishment!_ Just because we made the lab purple and – we weren’t even working on anything dangerous!”

“That’s true,” Steve agreed, “they were just, ah – “

“You guys were just screwing around while you _screwed around?_ ” Darcy inquired with pointed looks at the trio’s disheveled appearances: Tony’s pants were unzipped, Bruce’s shirt was backwards, and Steve’s hair was the sexingest sex hair she’d seen in _years_.

Seeing that Tony was gearing up for another round of objections, she held up a hand.

“No. Just…no. Pepper gave me the override and discretion to use it. I’m discreting. Go finish whatever was so important it couldn’t wait till you made it to one of the _many bedrooms you have in the Tower_ , but do it in Bruce’s or Tony’s rooms, Steve is going to volunteer his room to me so I can shower this flower stink off.”

“I am?” he asked, now a little amused.

“It’s the closest, so, _yes_ , you are.”

“Well. We’ve got our orders, boys,” so saying, he led the way down the hall, Bruce trailing behind him after offering her one last sheepish smile. Tony waited until they were a ways down the hall before fixing her with a frustrated glare and hissing out an annoyed, “Protocol Nazi!”

“I heard that!” Steve yelled.

“And I prefer Protocol _Paladin_ ,” Darcy said, smirking. She waited until they’d gotten into the elevator before addressing JARVIS again, “Can you do a standard clean and decontam? Oh, and tell Jane not to worry about choosing between Thor and science for the afternoon: science has been cancelled for the foreseeable future.”

“I shall inform her when she is less, ahem, _occupied_.”

Darcy winced, yeah, she definitely wasn’t going to be going back to their shared floor anytime soon if the dynamic duo were at it again. She hoped Steve and the boys had taken her seriously and headed to a different floor, she really _was_ going to be taking advantage of Steve’s delightfully close shower. She _hated_ flowers, a _lot_ , so smelling like she’d been literally _bathing_ in flower-scented perfume?

Tony was lucky she hadn’t cut him off for the next _month._

Still grumbling to herself, she made her way to the elevator, setting it for Steve’s room (which really _was_ the closest to the labs, for some ungodly – and likely nefarious – reason). As soon as the doors shut she took a deep breath, and promptly started choking on the cloyingly thick scent of flowers that was emanating from her clothing.

“I’m going to have to _burn_ this outfit,” Darcy realized.

“Shall I expense it to Mr. Stark?” JARVIS inquired.

“Yeah, may as well,” she decided, sighing. It wasn’t like it would make even the slightest dent in the Lab Aid Discretionary Idiot Eccentric Scientists fund, hell half the fund was spent on replacement clothes for Darcy, Ian, and the various lab-monkeys. Geniuses Bruce, Tony, and Jane might be, but easy on their subordinates they most certainly were _not_.

“Misters Stark, Banner, and Rogers have safely reached Mr. Banner’s rooms,” JARVIS informed her as the doors slid open to reveal the clean rooms and modern aesthetic of Steve’s apartment. She’d asked him once if he might not have preferred something a little more…

“Old-fashioned?” he’d interrupted with a small smile. “I’m living in the future, Ms. Lewis. It might not be what I expected, but trying to hold onto the past won’t bring back anything I’ve lost, and,” his smile got a little brighter, a little softer, a look she usually associated with Jane and Thor, “I like to think I’ve gained just as much as I’ve lost.”

Considering the future had held both of the good Captain’s soulmates, as well as his not-quite-as-dead-as-you’d-think best friend (what _was_ it with WW2 heroes doing their best popsicle impressions till they could see the 21st century?), Darcy thought he was pretty damn lucky, all things considered.

“Hey, Jay, aside from the trio and the dynamic duo, who all is in the Tower today?”

“Ms. Romanov, Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Barton have only just returned from an undisclosed location. All of them are in their respective rooms. I do believe everyone else is either out of the Tower for the day, or out of the city at the moment.”

Darcy nodded in relief as she made her way through Steve’s suite: she mostly dealt with the scientists, and occasionally their significant others. Though she’d met all the spysassins, she hadn’t really conversed with them (and terrified squeaking when the Black Widow stepped out of the shadows to steal your early morning coffee _did not count_ ) beyond their introductions. Tony’s ridiculous Tower’s residential section was designed so you didn’t really have to interact with anyone else unless you _wanted_ to. There were two common areas that people regularly used, but one was sort of unofficially set aside for the non-Avenging half of the residents, while the more martial part of the equation had their own.

Bruce, Tony, Steve, Erik and Thor occasionally broke those unofficial barriers, but for the most part people stuck with their groups. It was very high school, in a way, minus taunting or hazing…or most of the things that made high school suck.

“Think Steve will mind me stealing some clothes?”

“I doubt Mr. Rogers would grudge you any comfort after this morning’s events.”

Darcy stifled a grin, “He sure blushes prettily when he’s caught in _flagrante_.”

“Indeed.”

The suites were all pretty much identical in layout, so she found the shower easily. After establishing its location, she backtracked to Steve’s room and quickly grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. He was pretty built, but she was pretty curved, so she thought that the difference would sort of even out and the shorts _might_ stand a chance of staying on her hips till she made it to her room.

She stripped and folded her clothes by the sink before turning the faucet on and trying to decide on a setting - Tony’s stupidly tricked out showers were awesome, but also involved a lot of decision making. Still, the hot water would be _exactly_ what she needed to get rid of the awful flower smell and sooth away the stress of dealing with _idiot hormonal scientists._ She didn’t begrudge them their soulmarked happiness –

Okay, that was a half-truth. She was happy for them, really! She just wanted to know where the hell _her_ soulmate was. Darcy had seen Jane meet Thor, was constantly around the Tony/Steve/Bruce show, and, if one counted the rest of the residents – even the ones she hadn’t exactly spoken to, yet – was practically _surrounded_ by happy, soulmarked couples.

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t –

“Steve, why aren’t you answering – oh.”

Darcy whipped around and found James Barnes standing in the doorway, expression morphing from surprise to appreciation as he took her in in all her naked glory. She immediately grabbed her shirt off the pile and tried, unsuccessfully, to cover all her pertinent parts with it, “You’re supposed to _knock_ on closed bathroom doors! Chrissakes, were you raised in a _barn?!_ ”

He grinned like a goddamn Cheshire cat, “And miss this? Not for all the world, Lewis.”

There was scratchy black lettering in a straight line across her back, just at her bra-line that said _exactly that_ , so it’s understandable that Darcy’s reaction was to gape at him. _Holy-fucking-shit he’s my soulmate? Bucky Barnes is my soulmate? The Winter Soldier is my soulmate?_

Barnes reached back and did that one-armed pull that _all guys_ seemingly knew how to do to get their shirts off, revealing an _incredibly toned_ physique with her loopy handwriting wrapping around his waist. She could see the ‘were you raised in a barn’ bit curving upwards a little to go over an abdominal line.

“So, um – “ she said, voice unnaturally high as she ping-ponged between exhilaration and shock, “barge in here often?”

“Steve knows to lock his doors if he _really_ wants to keep me out,” Barnes said, taking a small step forward, “I’ve had to make quick apologies to quite a few people over the last coupla years, lookin’ for you.”

“Well,” Darcy said, taking a small step back to match his advance, still a little dazed because _soulmate_ and _bathroom_ and _naked_ and _so many muscles_ , “you found me, whatcha gonna do now?”

“I think,” Barnes said thoughtfully, reaching out his flesh hand and wrapping one of her loose curls around his fingers, “I’d like to take a shower.”


	5. setting boundaries (but I've let loose my heart)

“You always look so angry when you’re eating olives?”

Christine froze at the question, then slowly turned her head to meet a pair of bright blue eyes and an amused smile. Well, of all the galas in all the city, she meets her soulmate at _his_ , life was a laugh-riot. She swallowed the bite in her mouth, then answered honestly, “Probably. I only eat them because they come with the drink.”

Blue Eyes did a double take, then a slow scan that Christine felt from the tips of her (painful, pinchy, but _gorgeous_ ) designer shoes all the way to the top of her head. “Well, thank god,” Blue Eyes said, sighing gustily, “I spent half my childhood thinking you were gonna be an alcoholic.”

“I – no, not an alcoholic,” Christine said, surprised.

“I would show you your words but,” Blue Eyes grimaced and made a one-handed gesture at her dress and their surroundings, “not really the time or place for public nudity.”

“It’s a Stark party.”

“Point.”

“I’m Christine Everhart,” she said, offering a hand.

“Darcy Lewis,” Blue Eyes responded, taking the offered appendage and giving it a firm shake. She fixed Christine with a serious look, “I’m assistant to Jane Foster, friend of some stupidly brave, and sometimes just plain stupid people, and if you ever put anything you find out because you’re my soulmate in a publication without permission we will be finished before the ink has dried.”

"I'll never lie, to you or _for_ you, but if you tell me something's private then I'll do my best to keep it between us," she responded evenly.

"'Do your best?'" Blue Eyes - Darcy asked.

"I told you I wouldn't lie."

"Fair enough," Darcy said, and sat down, before offering Christine a sunny smile, "Buy a gal a drink?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of secretly _really like_ Christine. I mean, she was a bitch to Pepper, but aside from that.
> 
> Also: FIRST TO DO THE CHRISTINE/DARCY SHIP. *fistpump*


	6. hey (I just met you and you're driving me crazy)

The word ‘hey’ was the bane of one Darcy Lee Lewis’s existence.

From the first moment she’d understood what the cramped handwriting on the ball of her ankle meant, she’d been annoyed with the soulmark system, societal niceties, and the English language as a whole. Her soulmark said _Hey._ Hey! Not “Hey, how are you?” or “Hey, it’s nice to meet you.” or even a helpful “Hey, my name is ________.” No, she had just _Hey._ which was possibly the worst soulmark, _ever_ , and so commonplace that there was a pretty good chance she wouldn’t recognize her soulmate when she met them.

So, little Darcy hatched a plan and made herself a promise: to greet each and every new person she met with a sentence that they would _darn well remember_ and her soulmate would _have_ to recognize so that he or she would not, _could_ not, be confused about who _she_ was.

Her first general greeting was, "My name is Darcy Lewis. I'm a princess and I'm going to be an astronaut when I grow up." After a few years, she shifted it to the slightly less flashy, “Hello, I’m Darcy Lewis and I’m ecstatic to meet you.” ‘Ecstatic’ was a great word, very peppy, and so rarely used!

As she got older, she started to change it up. Instead of sticking with one general greeting, she had several that she’d pull out, depending on who she was meeting and in what context. So it became, "I'm Darcy Lewis. Rock the vote! Y'know, when we're eighteen and it's legal." to her peers, and "Darcy Lewis. The word "hi" should be banned from the English language. I had a question about the syllabus, professor." or something along those lines to her superiors, and sometimes, “Darcy Lewis, yes, named after _that_ Darcy, thanks much.”

It became a decent sort of litmus test for her to see whether or not somebody was a friend she’d want to cultivate. Some people gave her funny looks, or found her inappropriate, others laughed, and a few ( _very_ few) seemed to understand immediately.

So when Jane had responded with a grin to her, “Darcy Lewis, you should hire me because I’m awesome and make great pancakes,” she knew Puente Antiguo would be the right choice for her. When Erik’s reaction to her, “Nice to meet you, Darcy Lewis, gal Friday and procurer of PopTarts,” was to quietly show her the _very_ brief scribble on his elbow (“It says, ‘Cheers,’” he told her, “I saw the insides of more bars before I was sixteen than most alcoholics do in a lifetime, but I found him eventually.”), she briefly pondered switching her major – again – because these science types weren’t so bad.

Then she met Thor, (“I’m Darcy and you are _drunk._ ”), had her iPod confiscated by several dozen _very_ intimidating dudes in frighteningly sharp black suits (“Hi, _not_ nice to meet you, Darcy is my name and you are _violating my civil liberties!_ ”), met _more_ Asgardians (“Darcy Lewis, intern to genius Jane and her science posse.”), and started having to make actual life choices that would affect her beyond where she’d be bunking next year - or what classes she ought to take.

__She decided, after a little (okay, a lot of) deliberation, that she would stick with Jane. Sure, it was dangerous, and crazy, but it was also almost _never_ boring. Plus, this way she was sure to meet a lot of interesting people, maybe even the one with cramped handwriting who thought ‘Hey.’ was an appropriate greeting. __

And, eventually, a couple years later, she did:

“Hi, Steve,” Darcy said, wandering into the kitchen, then she paused and did a double-take, “Steve? Waitaminute, you’re back? Are you _back_ -back, or just on a stopover? Did you finally find him? Are you – “

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling at the scowl she was aiming his way over the hand he’d placed over her mouth, “I’m back. I’m _back_ -back, even, and _yes_ ,” he grinned so wide she thought she might hear bald eagles sighing, “we found him.”

“Awesome! Wait, ‘we?’ Who’s ‘we?’”

“Hey,” came another voice, from another _person_ most likely, a person currently hidden by Steve’s (impressive, downright beautiful) bulky form.

Steve was grinning oddly when he stepped to one side, revealing a tall, toned, incredibly _attractive_ black man that she vaguely recognized from the TV. The Cap looked like he was a moment from rubbing his hands together with glee as he told her: “This is my friend Sam, I’ve mentioned him before – “

“I only rate a _mention_ , Cap? I’m wounded!”

“And Sam, _this_ is Darcy – “

“Hi, Darcy Lee Lewis, nice to meet you, heard lots of _terribly_ interesting things about you,” she broke in, grinning at the man…who was staring from her to Steve looking completely surprised.

“You bastard,” Sam said (to Steve), a little admiringly, “you _knew_.”

“I kept telling you there was somethin’ special waiting for you at the Tower.”

“Yeah! But I thought you meant really-good-apple-pie special, not _this_ ,” Sam made an expansive gesture that seemed to encompass Darcy’s entire being.

Darcy, not being an idiot, immediately bought a clue and proceeded to do _exactly_ what she’d dreamed of doing for _years:_ she marched right over to Sam I-think-hey-is-an-acceptable-greeting Wilson and punched him right in the kidneys.

_Hard._

“’Hey?!’” she exclaimed, “You meet people for the first time and say _’Hey?!’_ That’s the most generic greeting _on the planet_ , what the hell’s wrong with you?!”

Sam she-was-still-annoyed-with-him-but-he- _was_ -incredibly-attractive- _and_ -her-soulmate Wilson, rubbed at his side, looking at her with mingled appreciation (she absolutely _did not preen_ ) and annoyance (she _had_ just punched him, and she knew how to punch). “You always greet everyone you meet with your _full name?_ ” he asked pointedly.

“Not _always_ , but usually. I _thought_ it would make it easier for you to find me.” She squinted at him, “I guess you weren’t looking all that hard. I should’ve kicked you instead, but I promised myself _years_ ago that I’d punch the idiot who thought ‘hey’ was an appropriate greeting.”

“Yeah?” Sam said squinting right back at her. “Well, I promised myself I’d kiss the _hell_ out of the woman with the _terribly interesting_ greeting, soon as I found her _the old fashioned way_ , and not by _cheating with Google_.”

Darcy blinked up at him, still stuck on the first part, “You – what?”

Sam was smirking now, but he still moved slowly - giving her time to object - when he reached out and wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her to him. The other hand went into the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her face up to meet his as he kissed her.

 _Very_ thoroughly.

Steve quietly left them to it, off to reunite with _his_ soulmate, and pay up on their bet: he hadn’t thought Darcy would actually follow through and punch her soulmate on their first meeting, Natasha had been equally certain she _would_.

Still, considering the forfeit, he didn’t mind losing.

Looked forward to it, really.

All around, it was looking to be a fine day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted, and includes quotes suggested by, a user named 'belly.' I'm…not sure whether to thank you or throttle you. My hands are cramping at the mo, but this was _really_ fun to write. BUT THAT'S IT. I'M DONE. NO PROMISES ON POSTING FOR, LIKE, AT LEAST THREE DAYS. Because _ow_.
> 
> That said, you are all INCREDIBLY FANTASTIC PEOPLE and I hoard your reviews to my heart (sometimes literally, when a review makes me so happy that I end up _literally hugging my laptop_ ) like Smaug does the gold of Erebor. Seriously, you make me incredibly happy, and I'm so glad that you're enjoying these weird little forays into my soulmate-obsessed brain. :-)


	7. not supposed to be here (found you, anyways)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking at some villains I might ship Darcy with (I will probably do a Rumlow chapter at some point because I think that actor is _really attractive_ ) and Batroc's wikipedia entry made me laugh out loud no less than _four times_. Seriously, go look him up, he's a mercenary with an ethical code who has actually worked with the Cap several times.
> 
> Also, occasionally people question his sexuality. (His costume is pretty hilarious.)
> 
> Also also, all French is taken from an online translator thingy, so…sorry, to any French-speaking readers. :-(  
> *edit: Now fixed (I assume, I don't speak French!), thank you, Bullla!
> 
> Also also also, FIRST TO DO BATROC/LEWIS (I think?), HELLS YEAH. *fistpump*

Darcy felt like she was stuck in the original ending of ‘Clerks.’

“I’m not even supposed to be here today,” she muttered to herself, half hysterically, as the sound of _yet another_ brief gunfight (short, they were always so _short_ because people were dying _all around her_ ) reached her in her hiding spot: crouched under a desk in an empty office, lights off while she prayed nobody would come in.

She and Jane were in D.C. for some conference the scientist wanted to attend. They’d been in and out of hotel ballrooms for most of the last few days, Darcy taking notes (she might not always understand what was being said, but she could write shorthand) while Jane enjoyed being _taken seriously_ and did a lot of networking that seemed to amount to her saying some variation of, “I told you so, _motherfucker,_ ” while her fellow physicists fell all over themselves to apologize and/or explain that they always _did_ believe in her research, _really!_

Academic politics were every bit as entertaining as _actual_ politics, and a lot less polite.

Darcy hadn’t expected to get a call from SHIELD, but apparently they wanted to discuss her employment with Jane. They hadn’t said anything outright, but she sort of got the impression they wanted to ‘promote’ her out of the scientist’s employ – they’d tried before, with Ian, after all – and were preparing to offer her some sort of monetary incentive.

She wasn’t particularly interested, but it didn’t hurt to hear them out.

Only, apparently, it _could_ hurt to hear them out, re: _gunfights in the hallways._

Darcy had been walking down the hall with her escort, on the way to a ‘negotiation’ room when _Captain Freaking America_ came on over the loudspeaker in the building to announce that Hydra, crazy German sect of Nazis-slash-terrorists, had infiltrated the building and were up to…something? Darcy hadn’t paid much attention at that point, because that was when the shooting started.

Her guide had whipped out her gun and then, promptly, been shot in the head by another agent. Darcy had taken off down the hall, ducking around a corner as soon as she could, and diving for the office she was in now. There wasn’t any pursuit, so she assumed either the original shooter was dead, or it was obvious to the agents that she wasn’t exactly a combatant they’d need to worry about.

Which left Darcy alone, blood-spattered (not thinking about it, _not thinking about it_ ), and terrified. Her phone, tazer, and iPod (a-fucking- _gain_ ) had been confiscated when she entered the building, so she couldn’t even call anyone. She knew she needed to get the hell out of the building, but she didn’t know _how:_ she was on the eighth floor, unarmed, and had no idea who to trust.

But…she also knew she couldn’t stay where she was. Eventually the fighting would be over and whoever won would start looking for survivors. Darcy wasn’t technically SHIELD, and she _definitely_ wasn’t Hydra, so she thought the odds were good that she’d be detained (at best) and shot (at worst) if she was apprehended, and neither of those options were particularly appealing.

After a few deep breaths, and a minute or so of silence, she crept out from underneath the desk and moved cautiously towards the door. She couldn’t hear anything from the hallway, so she opened the door (very, _very_ slowly) a few inches and peeked out. Nothing moving, and still no sound.

What followed was five minutes of pants-wetting terror (only not literally, because _ew,_ and also wet jeans would slow her down and probably chafe) as she slowly, carefully, tried to make her way towards the elevator. She wasn’t dumb enough to actually _use_ it, but she figured there had to be a staircase, or directions _to_ the staircase, nearby.

Darcy was right, and she made it onto the stairs…where there was definitely a lot more fighting going on, several floors above her head. She tried to keep a happy medium between _fleeing for her life_ and _not making any noise_ as she sped down the stairs, but she did pause and offer up a quiet, “Thank Thor,” when she reached the ground floor.

That was a mistake.

A big hand wrapped around the lower half of her face and yanked her back against a hard body while another swiftly, and efficiently, patted her down and then grabbed her wrists, pinning them together in the small of her back. The hand over her mouth slowly lowered to wrap around her neck, inherent threat _very_ obvious.

“Tu es seule?” _Are you alone?_

Darcy had spent most of her teenage years dreamily envisioning the devastatingly attractive person who would whisper that question seductively into her ear. French was the language of love, right? She even learned a little in preparation for the meeting. How romantic! Well, it was being whispered, into her ear, even, and a moment had never felt _less_ romantic.

Right now, she wanted to punch teenage-her in the face.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a slightly hysterical-sounding giggle. This prompted her as-yet-unseen soulmate (for fuck’s sake, really? She literally could not think of a worse time, place, or _way_ to meet your match) to push her to the wall beside the door to the lobby, simultaneously turning her so her back was to it and she was trapped, literally, between a rock (she was counting the cinderblock) and a hard place, namely, her soulmate.

He was even pretty hot, or he would be, if she wasn’t _terrified for her life._

“Fate sure has a funny sense of humor, doesn’t it?” she muttered.

His eyes went wide. “ _Merde,_ ” he breathed, and immediately released her, taking two steps back.

Darcy rubbed at her wrists, but stayed against the wall. Under her gaze, he slowly pointed to his left leg, then raised an eyebrow at her questioningly. Darcy, in turn, lifted her hair and turned her head to one side so he could see the writing that wrapped around her neck from just below one ear to the column of her spine. She felt a whisper of heat against her skin, but when she turned back, both his hands were fisted at his sides.

“You understand English?” she asked. At his nod, she continued, “I’d really like to get out of here. I don’t really want to get shot, today. Or at all, really.”

“It is not a pleasant experience,” he confirmed in heavily-accented English.

Just then, the building shook, and Darcy could hear a _lot_ of _really_ ominous cracking, creaking, and crunching coming from overhead. She yelped and raised her arms over her head as dust and debris rained down, the sound of _larger_ things falling rattling to them through the metal staircase.

When she looked up, she found that her soulmate had boxed her in against the wall, both his hands braced on either side of her head as he attempted to shield her. That was…kind of sweet, actually? He was definitely looking at her with concern.

She sent him a tentative smile, “Talk after we get out of here?”

He nodded and grabbed her hand, leading her towards the door and the rest of her life.

(Which she hoped to be another sixty-plus years, not sixty-plus seconds, please and thank you.)

And to think, she wasn’t even supposed to be there that day…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO, BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH, HANDS CRAMPING. DONE. DONE FOR A WHILE.
> 
> (But you guys are awesome and I love you.)


	8. tattoos (reference jokes) are forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medalline requested Darcy/Johnny. The flesh was unwilling, the muse was _super enthusiastic._

Darcy had _barely_ taken three steps off the elevator when she heard the wolf-whistle. She didn’t even look up from the files she was re-ordering when she told Tony (because who _else_ could it possibly be?), “Not in a million years, Dolly Levi, you go _your_ way and I’ll go _mine._ ” She kept on down the hall, heading towards Bruce’s lab since he was the one that was liasing with Dr. Richards, today.

Tony claimed that he could only handle that much smug on a once-monthly basis, Pepper had told Darcy that _she_ wasn’t certain the reinforcements on the lab walls could handle the pressure from two such egos colliding with any regularity. Bruce wasn’t really a fan of Richards, either, but he was willing to put up with the other man – mostly because he thought Sue Storm was charming. Jane had refused to work with him, point-blank.

Apparently he had been one of her more vocal critics, Before Thor.

Darcy thought he was an asshole, but then again, she worked with a _lot_ of people she thought were at least 1/10 asshole. Richards was, simultaneously, one of the worst and best examples of the type: he wasn’t _deliberately_ infuriating, insulting, and patronizing – that was just how he was wired.

Still, there was a pretty hefty betting pool riding on the probability that the whatever-it-was that gave the Four their powers had extended to his cock. How else could you explain Susan Storm, a remarkable woman by anyone’s standards, and her continued devotion to such a jerk?

Bruce greeted her with a smile when she came in, whereas Richards didn’t even acknowledge her presence as she set the files down next to their workstation. They were, apparently, working on replicating the special properties of the suits the Four had been wearing when they were…mutated. Bruce was hoping they could come up with some sort of formula to create fabric for pants that would grow _and_ shrink with him when he Hulked out.

(The bet on whether or not Little Bruce was _Hulked_ had been resolved months ago, much to Darcy’s and (surprisingly) Thor’s monetary satisfaction. Betty Ross was one damn lucky lady!)

The whole process probably would go more smoothly if Tony helped, but… re: egos.

“Need anything else, Bruce?”

“No, thank you, Darcy. If you could check in with us in an hour or so to remind us to break for lunch…?”

She smiled at him. “Consider it done, boss.”

“…and if you could check on Jane, soon?”

“On it!”

“Coffee?” Richards broke in, looking up at her, “Did you bring coffee?”

Darcy stared at him, “Dude. This is a _Stark_ lab. There’s a coffee machine _right behind you._ ”

He turned and looked at it, then back at her, a bit sheepish, “Oh, I didn’t notice, sorry…”

Darcy shook her head and shared a commiserating look with Bruce before she headed out. Richards was a real piece of work: not an asshole _on purpose_ , like Tony could be, for him it just seemed to come _naturally_. Sue Storm was either a saint, or getting laid _fantastically_ (pun completely intended) on the regular.

She was startled to see a person leaning up against the wall opposite the lab door, but a second look revealed that it was Johnny Storm, the super-flashy playboy of the Fantastic Four. She’d never actually met him, but she’d heard him compared to the worst bits of Tony, Clint, _and_ Bucky, so she was a bit leery.

He flashed her a smile (and yeah, okay, she could see the appeal: he looked like a down-and-dirty, slightly leaner, version of Captain America – and that was a _damn good look_ ) as she pushed the door open, pushing off from the wall and taking a few steps towards her so they met in the middle of the hall.

“I’m gonna be the man that wakes up next to you,” he half-stated, half-sang at her with a smirk.

Darcy stared at him. “I really hate that song,” she said faintly.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, “I’ve never been the biggest Streisand fan.”

“So,” she started, still kind of reeling.

“So…?”

“Where’s your mark? I mean, I thought the tabloids had seen _all_ of you, unless,” Darcy’s eyes flicked down to his fly and then back up to his (smirking again, the fucker) face, and she could _feel_ herself blushing. Still, she _had_ to ask, “Did I mark you somewhere they can’t show on TV?”

Johnny rolled his eyes, then made a show of sucking his index finger into his mouth, getting it very, _very_ , um, _wet_. Darcy gulped and watched, wide-eyed, as he half-twisted away, lifting his shirt and swiping his spit-damp finger across the small of his back, just above the hem of his jeans. Black lettering was revealed along the path his finger had taken as the concealer was rubbed away.

“My mark on you…is a tramp stamp,” Darcy said slowly, savoring the words. His smirk quickly became a scowl as the giggles started bubbling out of her because, _that was freaking priceless!_ She just could not stop laughing, not even when he crowded her up against a wall and started - _unbuttoning her shirt?!_

“So? Where is it?” he asked, batting away her hands and ignoring her indignation. The corner of his mouth twisted up into a dirty grin which was _not hot, goddamnit_. “I’m willing to lay money on it that I marked you somewhere _just_ as interesting, _Babs_.”

“Lay off the grabby hands, Mister! And _Babs?_ Wait, _Barbara_. Barbara Streisand. You’re _funny_ ,” she snarked, finally just flattening both hands over the few buttons that remained intact under the assault of his nimble fingers, and _Jesus_ , he was quick! Thank god she wore a tank under her flannel…

He gave her a shit-eating grin, settling his (very warm) hands on her hips, “So? Cough it up, _Babs_.”

“It’s _Darcy_ , fuckface, and it’s no place you’re gonna see for _at least_ three dates.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a _promise_.”

“Darcy,” he said, smirking down at her, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful – “

“ _God_ , you’re a tool.”

“ _Your_ tool, apparently,” he retorted smugly.

Darcy rolled her eyes and pushed him away, heading towards Tony’s labs.

But, apparently, he _had_ to have the last word, “Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave…”

_SUCH a tool,_ she thought, reluctantly amused.

But she _might_ have put an extra little swing in her step. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny's mark is a quote from "Hello, Dolly!" which is a fabulous film (why yes, I DO love Streisand).
> 
> Darcy's mark is a lyric from the Proclaimer's song, "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)."
> 
> For reference, THIS is what Johnny looks like when Darcy sees him outside the lab. Only, with his shirt on (sadly).
> 
> You're welcome.


	9. chicken soup (for the soulmate)

Darcy was _really_ not sure why _she_ (of all people!) was sitting here, in the recovery room, looking after a recently post lets-remove-all-the-Hydra-tech-holy-shit-there-certainly-is-a-lot-of-it surgery Bucky Barnes. The curt explanation she’d gotten from the Black Widow involved Shit Going Down elsewhere and Steve’s fanatical determination that Bucky not wake up to strangers. She must mean a person _Steve_ didn’t know, because everything Darcy knew of Bucky came from a history book.

The Widow, on the other hand, had explained it thusly: “You don’t look like a doctor, a scientist, or a plant,” she’d said bluntly while she helped Darcy grab a few things to keep her entertained during her vigil, “you are obviously not versed in combat, or any of the martial skills he has been trained to see as a threat.”

“So…he won’t try and attack me?”

“Not seriously.”

“That’s…really not as comforting as you seem to think it is.”

“It will only be for a few hours, a day at most. He will spend most of that time unconscious.”

Darcy sighed, “I trust you guys, this is mostly just me trying to state my doubts so I can get in a good ‘I told you so’ if anything goes wrong.”

Now, an hour later, here she was. In a room with an unconscious spysassin, updating herself on the latest Superwholock shenanigans on tumblr because _ha ha hiatus_. From her (extremely limited) knowledge of chemicals and a quick perusal of Bucky’s file, it looked like he was on enough happy-sleepy drugs to knock out a Hulk. Maybe even two, if he was having an off day…which was why she was so startled when she heard the sheets rustling.

_The sheets were not supposed to be rustling!_

When she looked up, she found a pair of very blue, very _confused_ eyes attempting to focus on her. Barnes had his hand fisted in the sheets, which was probably the source of the noise, but was staring at her. He squirmed a little, trying to sit up, which had her instantly dropping her tablet on the table and going to him because recent surgical patients should _stay still_ , damnit. This went against everything she’d planned…which had mostly amounted to ‘stay as far away from the spysassin as you can get whilst being in the same room,’ but he wasn’t very spysassiny at the moment? He looked more lost puppy than deadly weapon.

She hit the lift button so he could sit up a little, then smoothed the sheet by his hand.

“Are you an angel?”

Darcy froze. Wow. Okay, so, that could be a coincidence. Right? “Pretty sure angels don’t have a stigmatism, dude,” she replied. She watched him closely as she said it, looking for some sign of recognition. When she saw none she let herself relax, reveling in the relief and…a little disappointment. Because while, on the one hand she was pretty sure having the Winter Soldier as a soulmate would be full of drama and death and whole lot of other d-words, on the other hand it would be nice to find him or her or whoever had put that cheesy pick-up line on her skin.

She came out of her brief mental aside to find Bucky still staring at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, reverence in his tone, “are you sure you’re not an angel?”

This time Darcy laughed. “Promise,” she said, smiling, “just your average grad student.”

“There’s nothing average about you,” he objected.

“How do you know, you just met me!”

He made a disappointed face, hilariously exaggerated by his being _stoned off his gourd_. “We don’t know each other?”

“Nope, this is our first time talkin’ to each other.”

He frowned, obviously thinking very hard about that, then visibly brightened, “Then maybe you’re my soulmate! You should check. I know I’ve gotta have words somewhere…” He glanced down at his arm, and then at the place where an arm _should be_ , which, no, she was _not_ going to be the one to explain that to him, that was _above her pay grade_.

“I think you just want an excuse to get me to undress you,” she teased, trying to distract him.

Bucky seemed to take offense at that. “I would _never,_ ” he said, enunciating carefully, “try to trick you like that. I swear. Would you – could you please check the bits you can see _without_ undressing me? I’d really like to know what my words are.”

Darcy thought about it for a minute, but, the thing of it was, if _she_ had anesthesia-induced amnesia, or whatever this was, that would probably be one of _her_ first questions, too. So she nodded, and made a show of looking his arm over, “Not here.”

He nodded seriously, “I didn’t think it would be on my arm, that didn’t…feel right.”

She glanced up at that, maybe he was starting to pierce through the drug-haze? But no, his eyes were as fuzzy as they’d been when he’d first spoken to her. “Well, turn your head, lemme check your neck,” she instructed.

He slowly tilted his head first one way, then the other. “Find it?”

“Not yet.”

“Check my legs?” he asked hopefully.

“No funny business?”

“Promise.”

She made a show of sighing, like this was all too difficult, but moved to the end of the bed, untucking the blankets that had gathered at the foot of it and gently lifting them to reveal his feet, then calves. “Not seeing anything yet,” she said, a touch apologetically. When she glanced up to his face she saw that he was starting to look concerned. “I’ll check your thighs if you _stay still_ and _never tell anyone_. Sheesh," she grumbled, "you haven’t even taken me to dinner yet!”

“I would! I’d like to!”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what all the guys on morphine say,” she joked, slowly hiking his coverings up over his knees. Nothing, nothing, wait! There was a strip of black three inches above his left knee. She peered at it, leaning in a little to find –

Oh god. Oh, _fuck_.

“So,” she started, voice cracking a little, “about that soulmate thing…”

“Yeah?”

“We kind of are?”

He beamed at her. It was a good look for him.

Darcy collapsed back into her chair, staring aimlessly at her own hands.

“This means you _have_ to let me take you to dinner. I’ll take you somewhere nice, promise.”

She smiled tremulously, “We’ll see.”

There was a sound at the door, and she looked up to see the Cap, the Widow, and the Falcon (what was up with the bird codenames, seriously?) entering the room. Thank _god_ , they could take over watch duties and she could forget about this for a while –

“She’s my soulmate,” Bucky told the newcomers proudly, “isn’t she gorgeous?”

…or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely, _loosely_ based on that video that went around with that guy who didn't recognize his wife after he had surgery.


	10. tattoos (reference jokes) are forever, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! This is a lot longer (3,000 words! WHAT THE HELL, MUSE), and, um, _smuttier_ , than I intended. Sorry?
> 
> Their dynamic is _really_ fun to write, though. _So fun._

Darcy wasn’t really sure what she’d expected from Johnny. This, though?

Definitely not it.

“Well,” Jane said, clearly trying _very_ hard to think of something positive to say, “they’re certainly…exotic.”

The ‘they’ in question was a large bouquet of flowers, many of which Darcy couldn’t even put a name to, in a vast assortment of colors. It looked sort of like a garden had thrown up, or maybe an idiot had walked into a flower shop and asked for fifty of the most expensive and/or impressive posies they had.

“At least they smell nice?” Jane tried again, before ruining it by sneezing.

“That’s it, they’re going,” Darcy decided, standing and taking the ridiculous bouquet with her.

“You can’t throw away a gift!”

“I’m _not_ , I’m just gonna take them somewhere they’ll be _appreciated_.”

“Oh, okay,” the scientist nodded, turning away before her hayfever could really take hold.

Darcy took the bouquet down the hall to Bruce’s lab, he would probably be able to recognize, and appreciate, some of the more _unusual_ specimens. Individually, some of the flowers _were_ really pretty, it was the combination that made them loud, garish, and perfectly representative of the gift-giver.

She hadn’t seen Johnny since their first encounter two days ago, and now there was _this_ monstrosity, and the small white card that had accompanied it, featuring sloppy black handwriting that she was _intimately_ familiar with: ‘For my person who needs people! Picking you up at six, dress casual,’ and, of course, signed with a _ridiculous_ flourish.

(Although some part of her was reluctantly impressed at how he managed to make the ‘J’ in his name look like it was trailing flames.)

Darcy was not entirely sure how she wanted to respond to his _not-a-request._ On the one hand, she had sort of planned to go on a date with him at _some_ point, and was expecting him to ask her. On the other, the fucker hadn’t actually _asked_ , had he?

In the end, after dropping off the flowers with an appreciative Bruce, detouring to the kitchen for some restorative ice cream, and asking JARVIS the immortal question, “What would Pepper do?” she decided to get ready for her date. Yes, he was a presumptuous prick but, really, going on the date was something she kinda wanted to do anyways, it seemed more prudent to pick her battles.

Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t viewing date number one as a skirmish in its own right. After a little deliberation, she decided to call in the big gun: Natasha. The Black Widow was in town at the moment, recently returned from a covert operation in one of the many tiny despot-ruled countries that dotted Europe. Basically, Nat’s idea of a vacation, so Darcy expected to find the woman in good spirits.

She did _not_ expect Natasha to respond to her request with so much _enthusiasm_.

“Are you seducing him?” the Widow asked seriously.

“Um,” Darcy blinked, “not tonight?”

“Are you going to let him seduce you?”

“ _Definitely_ not tonight. I’m gonna hold him to the three date rule, at _least_.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at that. “Storm has a reputation,” she observed.

“I can handle him,” Darcy assured her, “he’s basically a bro, I know how to handle bros.”

Natasha ‘hmmmed’ at her in an (insultingly) skeptical manner, but helped her pick out an outfit that was cute, but would also be – hopefully – difficult for the firestarter to maneuver. That meant no t-shirt he could slip up (or off), nothing with an easily accessible zip or buttons, and _definitely_ nothing tearable. While it was starting to feel like overkill to Darcy, Nat only clucked her tongue and lamented the lack of any fireproof clothing in the lab assistant’s wardrobe.

“I think we’re set,” Darcy said, staring at herself in the mirror. In the end, they’d decided on a cute knee-length dress made of an attached black v-neck and dark green skirt design with a side instead of a back-zip (best of both worlds!), black leggings (hard for dudes to maneuver without her help), and her Converse. This _was_ a date with a superhero, after all, and could very well end with somebody picking a fight.

And not just over who was gonna get the check.

She kept her make-up simple, opting for a dark rose lipstick instead of her usual first-date fire engine red. It wouldn’t do to wave the flag in front of the bull. After all, there was no need to test him: she didn’t doubt her own appeal, or their mutual attraction. The real question – to her way of thinking – was whether or not they could stand to be around each other for extended periods of time.

When Johnny rolled up in his big black (she’d say he was compensating for something, but the many tabloid testimonials indicated otherwise) truck and honked, she was ready for him. Like, 90% sure she was prepared. For her first date with her soulmate. Who happened to be Johnny Storm.

_Fuck._

“What’s cookin’ good lookin,’” was his greeting. He was dressed in dark jeans and a (tight) white t-shirt, a gray baseball cap with the Fantastic Four’s team logo emblazoned just above the bill. Subtle.

“I think it might be your overdone jokes,” she returned, giving him her sweetest smile.

“Ouch,” he mimed a stab to his heart, “already, Babs?”

“It’s _Darcy_ , fuckface.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, grinning as he pulled back into traffic, “ _Babs_.”

“Is it too late to cancel?” she muttered under her breath.

He shot her a quick look, but didn’t reply, letting silence settle between them as he drove. A few minutes saw them pulling into a small parking garage, Johnny pulling into one of the oversized corner spaces reserved for idiots who drove overly large vehicles in crowded cities. Not that she had a strong opinion on that, or anything.

“So,” she asked, hopping out on her own instead of waiting for him to ‘help’ her down, “where are we going, hothead?”

He scoffed, coming around the truck to meet her. “Like I haven’t heard _that_ one before.”

“Should I take that as a challenge for me to be more original?” she asked, shooting him a sidelong glance.

Johnny grinned, and she was struck once again by just how _attractive_ he was. Yes, he was hot, but he was _charming_ , too. “You can take it any way you like,” he told her, surprising her by grabbing her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow, “any way you want it, that’s the way you need it.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“Usually girls are saying that at the _end_ of the date, not the beginning.”

Darcy pressed a palm to her forehead, letting him lead her down the street. “I think I’m getting a headache, the sheer size of your ego must be affecting the local barometric pressure.”

“I know a _really_ good cure for headaches – “

“Third date, at _least_ , asshole. Keep dreaming.”

“Of you? With pleasure.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile, she enjoyed bantering with him. It was…fun.

“So,” he said after a minute, “I was thinking dinner, then a movie.”

“How high school,” she teased, flashing him a bright smile to show she _did_ genuinely like the idea. She had been a little worried, before she got the ‘dress casual’ note, that he would try and impress her with his cash. She supposed the flashy bouquet could count as that, but it was still a lot less than she had feared.

“After you,” he stopped before a little restaurant, getting the door for her with exaggerated chivalry.

It turned out to be a really nice little sandwich place with, hands down, the best Reuben she’d had since coming to the city (and this was New York, so that was saying a lot). Conversation flowed pretty easily between them, mostly filling each other in on what they each _actually_ did behind the scenes in their respective heroic organizations, interspersed, of course, with a whole lot of mockery – both of each other, and of some of the really, truly, _deeply_ ridiculous villains they’d each encountered.

By the time they walked out of the restaurant (after a brief fight over the check which led to Johnny winning, _after_ promising she could buy the tickets), doggie bags in hand, Darcy was feeling a whole lot more relaxed about the whole thing. Well, sort of. She was having fun, enjoying herself, but Johnny also kept _touching_ her. It wasn’t anything she could, or planned, to call him on, just little things: hooking an ankle around hers while they sat, brushing her hair behind her ear, tangling their fingers over the dinner table.

It wasn’t even big stuff! She wouldn’t think twice about it with any other guy, but with Johnny it left her feeling very _aware_ of him. Walking down the street, she just couldn’t help noticing it every time he so much as brushed against her. He put out a lot of heat, which was actually sort of nice as the day cooled down edging into night.

By the time they reached the theater, only a few blocks away, Darcy was _really_ looking forward to an hour or two of ignoring him and paying attention to something less…distracting. One thing she hadn’t taken into account? Air conditioning, and the tendency theaters had of _overusing it_.

Darcy felt goosebumps rise on her skin as soon as they crossed the threshold. “So,” she asked, trying to distract herself, “what are we watching?”

“Godzilla?”

“…you spend ninety percent of your work time defending the world from threats, _including_ , occasionally, giant lizards and/or radiation monsters, and you wanna watch a movie where the super-destructive monster is the hero?”

“…yes?”

“Okay. Just so we’re clear that you’re a ridiculous human being.”

“Hey!” he objected, following her towards the ticket counter, “You wanna see it too!”

“Yeah, but I don’t actually _fight_ the lizard/radiation monsters, I just _study_ them. Sort of.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and, as soon as she moved to get their tickets, smoothly stepped in front of her and slipped two prepaid passes across the counter to the clerk, “Two for Godzilla, please.”

As soon as the clerk turned away to print their tickets, Darcy hissed, “You were supposed to let _me_ get them! That was our deal!”

“Was it?” he asked innocently. “Whoops, guess you can pay next time, if you want to make it even.”

“I _will_ ,” she said, determined. Then, as they were handed their tickets and started heading towards their screen, she elbowed him in the side, _hard_. “You sneaky _asshole,_ ” she said, half-annoyed and half-admiring, “this is your way of guaranteeing a second date!”

Johnny grinned charmingly, “Worked, didn’t it?”

In the theater, she found – much to her pleasure – that it wasn’t that crowded. It wasn’t really a surprise, Godzilla had been out for a while, she just hadn’t had a chance to see it. After a quick negotiation over where to sit, they settled in the middle of the middle.

Darcy was suppressing shivers as soon as she sat down, and couldn’t help leaning a little closer to Johnny and his delightful heat. She was grateful that he hadn’t seemed to notice, and they continued their earlier discussion of the merits of spandex vs. Kevlar-weaves while they waited for the lights to go down.

Of course, as soon as they _did_ , Johnny was wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer to him so she was sort of half-leaned over the arm rest between them. She pulled against his hold for a second or two, getting out a reprimanding, “ _Johnny_ ,” between grit teeth.

“What? I just don’t wanna listen to your teeth chatter for the next couple of hours.”

“Asshole,” she muttered, but she settled against him.

The movie was actually pretty good. Completely ridiculous, of course, and after a few years working for the scientist brigade she had the background knowledge to _know_ every single implausible leap in bogus science-logic they were making. She got a little distracted halfway through when Johnny started playing with her hair. It wasn’t much, just twisting a couple of locks in and out of his fingers. It was just that his thumb kept _brushing against her neck_ , which had her clenching a fist in her lap in order to keep herself from shivering.

She was about 90% sure it was _completely on purpose_ , but if she called him on it he’d _know_ she was affected. It was like they were playing a sexy version of Chicken.

Darcy was a touch competitive, it was a flaw.

So she rested her _other_ hand on Johnny’s thigh, ostensibly to help her keep her balance, and proceeded to _squeeze_ every time something loud, or bright, or vaguely interesting happened on screen. It was, she noted, a very impressive thigh, though quite tense – and getting moreso.

By the time the movie ended, Darcy _knew_ her face was flushed, she ducked into the bathroom as soon as they got out of their screening room to use the facilities and splash some cold water on her cheeks. Her face in the mirror was pink in the cheeks, and her eyes were dark: pupils dilated in a telltale manner.

“Yes, he’s hot,” she told her reflection, “you _knew_ this, you _prepared_ for this. There’s just a drive home, Darcy. You can get through this with your dignity, and your panties, intact.”

“You go girl,” an amused middle-aged woman told her. “’Course, if your boy’s the one in the white shirt…good luck.”

“Thanks,” Darcy said dryly, and headed once more unto the breach.

The walk back to the truck was easily filled with chatter about the film, same for the drive back to the Tower. Of course, he couldn’t exactly drop her off at her door, but he did pull into the attached garage set aside for Tony, residents, and guests. He parked and shut the engine off –

“I had fun,” she told him.

“So did I.” He smiled, “Wanna make out a little?”

“At _least_ the – “

“Third date, I know. I didn’t suggest a home run, just a little foolin’ with the bases.”

“Oh my god, the _bases analogy_ , this really _is_ a high school date – “ she cut off as he scooted across the bench seat towards her, sliding a hand down her arm till he could grab her wrist and tug her against him. She ended up pressed against his (warm, firm) chest, hands at his shoulders, while he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

He was smirking down at her, eyebrows raised, “So? Make-outs?”

It was hard to glare at someone barely a few inches away, but somehow she managed it. “Fifteen minutes, and then – “

“Someone will strobe the porch light? Got it.”

He kissed like they bantered: sharp, quick, and full of surprising insight. It only took a minute for him to haul her leg up and over his lap so she was straddling him, pushing the skirt of her dress higher so her thighs could spread a little wider. She probably should have – _would have_ \- objected, but he coupled that move with a detour towards her neck, nipping and licking and –

Darcy dug her nails into the short hairs at the back of his neck and scraped them down, making him bite off a groan into her hair. When he pulled back to look at her she darted in for another kiss, letting their mouths move together and _damn, he was a good kisser…_

She trailed her hands down his front, tracing the muscles (so many muscles) as she went, till she got to the hem and could slip it up a little – just enough to slide a hand under and touch the trail of hair that led down from his navel. She gave it a light tug, which made Johnny gasp, his hips following her hand and – 

Oh.

_Oh._

Yeah, the truck? _Definitely_ not compensating for something. He was downright _gifted_.

“D’you know,” he began, panting against her ear in a way that made her whole body go up in shivers, “what I’d say, if this were high school?”

“N-no,” she moaned as he took a moment to leave an open-mouthed kiss on her pulse, “what would you say?”

She shouldn’t have asked. _She should not have asked._

Darcy could feel him smirking against the skin of her neck.

“C’mon, Babs, _just the tip_ ,” he bucked his hips, pressing his sizeable bulge against her core, “just for a _minute_ ,” he lowered his hands to her hips and held her still while he initiated a slow, dirty grind, continuing in a hoarse whisper, “just to see how it feels?”

Darcy gasped, back arching so hard she ended up staring blankly at truck’s ceiling. “Oh,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder once she thought she could move without whimpering, but unable to stop herself from making little circles with her hips, “wanna know what I would have said? In high school?”

Johnny nipped at her ear, drawing another moan from her. “Sure.”

She took a deep breath, braced her hands on his shoulders and said, “Not on your life!” Darcy took advantage of his moment of surprise to tear herself away from him, sliding back against her side of the truck, getting the door open, and tumbling out as fast as she could. She stood there with her eyes shut, trembling and sucking air in, until she heard him moving.

When she looked up, he was straightening himself in the seat and, ahem, adjusting himself with a grimace. “So,” he started, and his voice was rough enough that it made her skin prickle, “I’ll, ah, call you about that next date.”

She nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

They sat there staring at each other for another minute or so, then –

“Third date,” Darcy reminded him, “not before.”

Johnny grinned at her and started his car.

It wasn’t until he’d pulled away that she realized that was the first time her little disclaimer had lacked the ‘at _least_ ’ codifier.

Red flag, meet bull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, if this particular AU gets any longer, I'm gonna move it out and make it its own story.
> 
> *IT GOT LONGER, find the rest here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1867746?view_full_work=true


	11. chicken soup (for the soulmate), part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly loopy on allergy meds right now…so I thought I'd write from drugged-out Bucky's perspective.
> 
> Just warning you.

He watched the three new people react with shock (the big blonde one), a few quick blinks (the redhead who _almost_ gave his soulmate a run for her money in the looks department), and humor (the black man with the backpack). They, in turn, were all staring at his soulmate (so beautiful!) who was watching them right back with a tired look on her face.

“Your soulmate is quite attractive, yes,” the redhead said slowly.

The big blonde was still gaping, but managed to muster a small smile and a sincere, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he said, because it was only polite. It was hard to hold on to thoughts at the moment: his head was _swimming_. He’d heard that expression before, and it hadn’t made much sense to him, but it really did feel like his head was underwater while the rest of him was not. Ergo – swimming.

“Nat?” his soulmate (had she told him her name? He didn’t quite remember) addressed…one of the trio, hard to tell which since his eyes weren’t focusing all that well. “Remember what we talked about earlier? _I told you so._ ”

The redhead looked a touch sheepish; she must be ‘Nat.’

“Bucky,” the blonde said, and he was looking at him, so _he_ must be Bucky, “What do you remember?”

Bucky – he liked how that name sounded, he liked the trailing ‘eeee’ at the end – thought about this. He remembered waking up. He remembered seeing his soulmate – only he didn’t know she was his soulmate yet – and he remembered stuff with blankets. Not funny stuff! Just trying to find his soulmark. He tried to cast further back in his memories, but it made his head spin.

“My head feels funny,” he told them, “I don’t think it wants to remember.”

Big and blonde looked stricken at that; maybe he was supposed to know him?

“Head probably feels lighter,” the black man chimed in. “You had enough chips to play a poker game lining the inside of your skull.”

“Why was I putting poker chips in my head?” Bucky asked, confused.

“Oh- _kay_ ,” his soulmate said, clasping her hands together in front of her, “I think that the evidence clearly shows all deep and meaningful conversations should be put on hold until _certain people_ are no longer higher than _kites_ , yes?”

He was pretty sure he was the ‘certain people.’ He was certain that he was certain, ha! He didn’t think he could have any long talks with anyone while his head was like this, unless the other people joined him underwater? Maybe that would help. Bucky was glad his soulmate had recognized this. She was so _smart,_ he was so lucky!

“And _you_ ,” she looked at him. Her eyes were really pretty. He liked her glasses too: they made her eyes look bigger. “You should probably be taking a nap, buster, I don’t know how the hell you’re _not_ Rip Van Winkling it. You feeling tired, Bucky?”

“Yeah,” he told her, because he was pretty sure she'd just asked if he wanted to sleep, “I think I should nap. You’ll be here when I wake up?”

She blushed a nice shade of pink that made him wonder if her skin was as soft as it looked. “I’ll see what I can do about that, but no guarantees. You’ll definitely see me again, though,” she said, but she was frowning a little, which made him worry. “I mean, we’re soulmates,” she went on, though she shook her head at that last, looking like she couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t either, his soulmate was _perfect_. “I definitely want to talk to you,” she assured him. “Later. At some point.”

He tried to nod, but it made his head feel like it was going to roll right off the side of the bed. “Will you stay with me till I fall asleep?” he asked hopefully, he kinda wondered if she’d hold his hand if he asked, and oh, he must've said that out loud - or maybe she could read minds? A psychic soulmate! - because she was coming closer and taking his hand! He’d have to figure out where the other one had gone, at some point. He wanted to have two hands to hold hers with.

“Sure, Bucky,” she said, “I’ll stay here and hold your hand till you fall asleep.”

He shut his eyes, and let himself relax into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm calling this offshoot done, guys, there's really no place left that I want to take it.
> 
> That said, to everybody reading, reviewing, kudos-ing, and bookmarking: YOU ARE MY SUNSHINES, MY SHINY SUNSHINES AND I GOT SUNSHINE ON A CLOUDY DAY! But seriously, you guys are awesome. Much <3\. Such feedback (!!!). Wow.


	12. the three faces of Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three ways Darcy and Pepper could have happened, loosely strung together by Clue references.
> 
> (That film has a stupidly catchy theme.)

_**Here’s how it could have happened:** _

“Ms. Lewis?” Pepper spared the girl a brief smile before turning back to her tablet. She had a million and one things to do today and helping Tony fill his home for wayward scientists was nowhere _near_ the most urgent. “Your room will be on the 168th floor.”

“Oh,” the girl squeaked, “No _freaking_ way! You’re Pepper Goddamn Potts!”

Pepper froze. “What?” she asked faintly.

The girl – Darcy – was staring at her avidly, face caught somewhere between excited and nervous. “That’s my soulmark, the 168th floor thing, I always thought I’d meet my soulmate in like, a hotel or something, but you’re – I just - _fuck_.”

That about summed up Pepper’s feelings on the topic, as well. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said after a moment, drawing on _years_ worth of training to draw composure up like a shield. She held out a hand for the brunette to shake, brain rattling back and forth between _Oh god, oh no, Tony! What will Tony think?!_ and _This is it, this is your soulmate._

Darcy took her hand and gave it a firm pump, then stood there holding it. “I’m straight,” she said abruptly, then flushed a bright, cherry red. “Sorry! I just, yeah, had to get that out there. So, um, platonic besties? Lifelong pals? I mean,” she shrugged, a sort of helpless look on her face, and used the hand that _wasn’t_ clutching Pepper’s to shove her hair behind her ear, “I just don’t really know what I have to offer someone like… _you_.”

Pepper knew her mouth had dropped open during that…barrage, and took a moment to close it, thinking. “I’ve always been too busy to cultivate many strong interpersonal connections,” she finally said, matching Darcy’s bluntness, “working with Tony is fulltime, overtime, _all the time_ , and _dating_ Tony is actually _more_ time-consuming. Somehow.”

“I’ve worked with Jane Foster long enough to know that some genius types like to burn the candle at both ends, the middle, and every measurable fraction in between,” Darcy offered. “But, I mean, I know you’re busy, but – “

“I’ll _make_ time for you,” Pepper said firmly. “ _Friends_ , yes. I’d – I’d like that.”

“We can kvetch about idiot scientists and hero-types and talk political impact?”

Pepper, for the first time in a _long_ time, let herself relax. “That sounds perfect.”

_Later:_

“But how straight is straight, really? I mean, did she actually _say_ she was a solid Kinsey – “

“Tony, _no_.”

_**Or maybe something like this:** _

Darcy had about a hundred things she wanted to say, but what came out was: “I loved your speech.” Then, suddenly under scrutiny from a pair of _really, really_ sharp blue eyes, she babbled on, “I’ve loved your whole career, actually. You’re super kick-ass.”

Pepper Potts, _the_ Pepper Potts, turned fully away from the conversation she’d been having with some old white guy (looked stuffy, and was obviously annoyed at being passed over for a recent graduate – still wearing the cap and gown to prove it! – he was probably rich and the parent of one of her now-ex-classmates) and smiled at her. “Thank you,” she said, “it’s always nice to get a compliment, though I don’t think I’ve been called ‘kick-ass’ before.”

Darcy gaped at her because _holy fucking shit._ “Maybe not to your face,” she acknowledged, trying to ignore the fact that her voice was currently two octaves higher than she’d ever heard it before. She coughed, then went on more normally, “People probably give you lots of P.C. compliments like – “ she thought for a second, but came up frighteningly blank. “Look,” Darcy said after a second or two of just _staring_ , “I can probably think of a lot of nice things to say about you, you’ve been the focus of, like, six debates in my polisci and recent history courses, most of which ended after we all agreed that you were the bee’s knees, but right now I’m still kind of stuck on wondering whether or not I’m dreaming, or hallucinating because I think you might be my soulmate? And I’m kind of freaking out, here.”

Pepper cocked her head to one side, “Good or bad?”

“What?”

“Your ‘freak-out,’” she explained patiently, “is it a good one or a bad one?”

“Are you kidding? If you’re my soulmate I might need to start going to church again because _obviously_ somebody up there likes me!” Darcy made a complicated hand gesture trying to encompass Pepper’s entire… _Pepper-ness_ , from her perfect strawberry-blonde hair to the pointy tips of her awesome designer shoes. “You’re gorgeous and smart and…oh shit, are you straight? Because, I mean, I could live with just friends, I could be _totally fine_ with that, that would be freaking awesome, but – “

“But?” Pepper asked, eyebrows lifted in polite inquiry.

“I would also _really_ like it if our relationship was, um, _not_ platonic,” Darcy said, then shut her mouth with a snap so that she wouldn’t go on to say things like _you’re hot as fuck_ or _I think you’d rock a strap-on like you rock the business world_ or _I kind of wonder if you taste as good as you look._

“What’s your name?”

“Oh,” _shit, nice going there, numbskull,_ “I’m Darcy. Darcy _Lewis_.”

“Well, Darcy,” Pepper smiled at her again, and it was polite and small but something about the twinkle in her eyes made it seem downright _dirty_ and Darcy could feel herself blushing all the way down her chest. “I’m not straight. I _would_ like us to be friends, but that’s more because I believe every relationship should start with a solid foundation. Have any plans for tonight?”

“None that I can’t reschedule,” Darcy said faintly. Her parents – and brothers – would understand.

“Would you like to go somewhere?”

“I think I’d probably follow you anywhere.”

“Lets start with coffee,” Pepper said, laughing a little, “and we’ll see where this goes.”

_**But here’s how it REALLY happened:** _

“You! Yes, you with the hipster glasses and phenomenal rack!”

“I don’t have to take that kinda sass from somebody who wears lifts in his shoes,” Darcy retorted before she could think better of it. When she turned to face the speaker, though, she found Tony Stark (!!!) staring at her with wide eyes. She frowned at him, thought back over what was just said and – “Holy shit.”

He stalked up to her, giving her a once-over. “You’re shorter than me,” he finally said, looking _quite_ like a cat with a newly-discovered bowl full of cream, “you’d _still_ be shorter even if I was barefoot. And I _do not_ wear _lifts_.”

“Please,” Darcy snorted, “you’re barely, what, 5’8? Pepper Potts is 5’9 _without_ heels.”

“You’ve met already?” he asked, frowning.

“Nooooo,” she said slowly, “I’ve read her wiki page.”

“Come on,” he grabbed her wrist and started pulling her after him, _away_ from Jane’s machines (which she was supposed to be unpacking because apparently genius astrophysicists didn’t trust just _anyone_ with their babies) and towards an elevator, “We need to go introduce you two, right now.”

“Wait, you seriously think – “

“Both our second sets have the same handwriting. Besides, she’s mine, and you’re mine, and you’ve got another set of words somewhere, doncha?”

“Well, yeah, but – “

“But nothing, statistically speaking, if you’re mine, you’re probably hers.”

“Not sure I like all this ‘mine’ business,” Darcy muttered, a little shell-shocked.

Tony – Tony Stark, this was _Tony Stark_ \- rolled his eyes, “You’re ours and we’re yours, ownership is mutual, kid.”

“ _Definitely_ sure I don’t like you calling me ‘kid,’ _gramps_.”

He winced, “Ouch.”

She felt a little bad, but refrained from saying sorry, instead: “How old were you when I was born?” Darcy had been born with both her soulmarks, and _resented the hell_ out of one of them for _years_. She was still trying to assimilate the idea that Asshole Soulmate was Tony Stark and Apologetic Soulmate might be _Pepper Potts_. What the fuck.

“Seventeen.”

“So _daddy_ , not _gramps_ , whoops.”

“Not one of my kinks, sweetheart, but I’ll be fully willing to explore _yours._ ”

Darcy was not prepared for this. He was older, yeah, but he was also _hot_ and kind of her boss? This was a weird day. “Sure you can keep up with me?” she asked, thinking, _Will you guys even WANT a soulmate so much younger than you? How will I fit in?_

“Oh,” he grinned wickedly, “I’m sure _between_ the two of us, you’ll be fine.”

“Oh my god,” she muttered, staring at him in horror as the elevator doors opened, “was that your idea of a joke? Are you trying to be witty?! That was _awful._ I’m disappointed, really, I’d heard so much about the legendary Stark _wit._ ”

Tony grinned, “I’ll wit you _anytime._ ”

This was still _the most ridiculous day_ but Darcy was grinning too as he dragged her down the hall after him. A few people stared at them, but most just went about their business, probably used to Stark’s antics after years of working with the eccentric genius.

“Pepper!” he called, shoving open a set of _very_ impressive doors, “Light of my life! Shine in my shoes! Rose of my dawn! I’ve brought you a present!”

The redhead who looked up from her desk was, indeed, the estimable Pepper Potts. “Oh Tony,” she said, voice full of both fondness and weary resignation, “what is it _this_ time?”

He shoved Darcy forward. “Say the thing.”

“I’m so sorry about this,” Pepper said, shaking her head.

“Um,” Darcy said, “I’m not? Sorry, that is. This is pretty exciting.” To her left, Tony was fairly vibrating with excitement, the both of them staring at Pepper as realization spread over her face, then she gave Darcy a pretty obvious once-over.

“You’re shorter than Tony,” she said after a moment.

“I know, isn’t it _great?_ ” he said, sounding almost giddy.

Darcy looked between the two of them, they appeared to be having some sort of conversation with just minute facial expressions. She tried not to feel left out, but they obviously knew each other so well and she just –

“Yes!” Tony did a fist-pump.

Pepper sighed, but she was smiling and packing away a few folders into a briefcase. “Let me just – “

“What is going on?”

“Pepper is taking the day off,” Tony explained, bouncing a little on his toes. “We’re going back to the residential section and ordering pizza – “

“And sushi.”

“ _And_ sushi,” he said, rolling his eyes, “and we’re all going to get to know each other.” He waggled his eyebrows and continued with a stage-whispered, “ _Biblically._ ”

“Tony!”

“Oh fine, we’re going to have a lot of long conversations about who we are and figure out what we’re like and hammer out a few details in the soulmate thing. Like whether or not you’re bi, like Pepper and me, whether or not you even _want_ a romantic relationship with us, which – we’re awesome, why wouldn’t you? – and all the other crap.”

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Pepper said, briefcase held in one hand, the other held out for a shake. As soon as Darcy put her hand in the redhead’s, she smiled, her excitement reflecting Tony’s, “We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

Darcy looked from one smiling face to the other and – 

“Yeah,” she said, “sorry to have kept you waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hand is still kind of jacked up (gee, wonder why, not like I wrote 30,000 words of fic in ONE WEEK - *curses frail mortal body*) so I can only write in short bursts right now, hence ficlet updates. Working my way through requests, though. Will probably post another story like this one, only it'll be devoted to non-Darcy pairings (since there've been MANY requests).
> 
> Also, random, but: hypothetically (like, REALLY hypothetically, would not be posted for a LONG, LONG WHILE) would there be any interest in an MCU AU with A/B/O where Alpha females and Omega males have both sets of sexual organs? Yes, that means men and women who can both impregnate AND carry. Just testing the waters a little.


	13. drunk food (friends and lovers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a separate story (EVEN THOUGH IT'S WAY LONGER THAN EXPECTED) because it FEELS like a ficlet.

“You _have_ to come, Lewis,” Tony said – whined, really – “It’s _sidekicks_ day!”

“One, not _your_ sidekick – “

“Well, obviously, I already _have_ a sidekick.”

“And _two_ , I’m not _anyone’s_ sidekick. What the hell, dude.”

“You’re _Thor’s_ sidekick,” Tony said, as if this should be obvious.

“If I’m _anyone’s_ sidekick, _which I’m not_ , I would be Jane’s! Right, Jane?” There was a muffled noise from behind the spectrometer that she took to mean ‘yes.’ “See?” she asked, turning back to Tony, “I’m a _science_ lacky, not a _sidekick._ And also, sidekicks day? _Really?_ ”

“Steve has his Jason Todd _and_ his Nightwing, I’m bringing my old college bestie, Natasha has Clint, Bruce _is_ his own sidekick, Thor’s going to be left out! He always talks about you, anyways. It’s like you’re there, even when you’re here, you know?”

“I…do not even know where to start with that.”

“So, really, just come out drinking with us. It’ll be fun!”

“It sounds kind of like a sausage-fest – “ Tony flinched, and Darcy immediately pounced on his telltale reaction, “it _is!_ Wait, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You want me because I’m a girl!”

He gave her (awesome) breasts an obvious leer, “Yes. Yes you are.”

“Don’t try to confuse the issue, you want me to come balance the party. Why?”

Tony hemmed and hawed and finally broke down, pouting a little as he explained that, “Natasha said I couldn’t bring Rhodey unless I _also_ brought Pepper. Or any girl, really. Apparently she’s, and I quote, ‘sick of being the only one with any sense, but at least you’ve got a good liquor tolerance, Stark.’”

“So, if I don’t go, Rhodey doesn’t go?”

“Exactly.”

Darcy sighed deeply, “How long is he in town for?”

Tony perked up, “He’s staying for the week, so two nights out on the town?”

“You will owe me. And I don’t just mean booze. I’m talking cold, hard iTunes giftcards.”

“Deal,” he said instantly, holding out his hand. As soon as she’d shaken it, he was gone, out the door – probably off to call this ‘Rhodey’ and give him the good(?) news.

“You know,” Jane said, popping out from behind the spectrometer, “you kind of _are_ Thor’s sidekick.”

“Oh shut up,” Darcy muttered.

\---

The first night, Darcy grabbed Natasha and dragged her – by which she meant she coughed politely to get the assassin’s attention, then used hand gestures to get the other woman to follow her, she didn’t have a _death wish_ , okay? – to her room to get advice on what to wear.

“Where are we going, what kind of things will we be drinking, will it be incognito?”

“A dive bar, whatever you like, yes.”

“Oh,” Darcy blinked, “well ok then.”

Natasha smiled, “Would you like help deciding what to wear?”

“Yes, _please_. Jane is _awful_ at this kind of thing. She has the same plaid shirt in _eight different color combinations_ and just matches the rest of her wardrobe to it so that she doesn’t even have to really look to find an outfit. Last time I asked for her help I ended up sending her out for wine and cheese and sneaking away while she was gone.”

“Perhaps we should take her shopping.”

“If you can get her into Kohls and keep her _away_ from the men’s section then you are a goddess of fashion masquerading as a mere mortal,” Darcy said solemnly. “But for now, jeans – yes or no? And tops: plan for air conditioning? We’ll be out with the boys, will there be dancing? How long do I have to stay before I can duck out?”

“Jeans will be fine, stick to a darker wash, plan for air conditioning, there probably won’t be dancing: Steve still refuses to learn,” Nastasha answered, now looking amused, “and I expect you to stay out until you understand exactly _why_ I need another woman’s company on these outings. Sif makes good conversation, when she’s here, but she also usually brings her three warrior-mates with her and they are…”

“More on the Clint and Tony side of things?”

Natasha sighed. “Fandral is a strange mix of Tony’s aggressive flirting and Steve’s old-world mannerisms, Hogun makes Coulson seem positively _expressive_ in comparison, and Volstagg is…very _Asgardian._ ”

“Ah, yeah, I can see how that might be…taxing. Why not invite Maria?”

“I did once, and she came. _Never again._ ”

“Bad?”

Natasha gave her a dark look.

“Bad. Okay than, well. This should be…interesting.”

She had _no idea_.

\---

They all piled into two town cars and headed to the dive bar Clint had scoped out earlier in the week. Darcy’s car held Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Thor, the other car had Tony, Bruce, Rhodey, Clint, Natasha, and – surprisingly – Coulson. Darcy was not entirely sure she was comfortable getting inebriated, and therefore having _lowered inhibitions_ around this many hot people who were combat trained and, in a few cases, had dangerous instinctual reflexes.

She was a tactile drunk. She knew it, she owned it.

Only, she wasn’t sure she’d _survive_ being tactile with this group.

Darcy glanced around, glossing over the quiet conversation going on between the soldierly-trio, finally focusing on the smiling Thor. He would probably be safe to hug, provided she reminded him to mind his strength from time to time, bruised ribs did not a happy lab tech make.

“Hey, bug guy,” Darcy said, smiling at him, “apparently I’m your sidekick?”

Thor grinned, “I have had this term explained to me and, while I do not entirely agree with it, it does in some respects seem a fitting description of our relationship. I would be happy to fight with you at my side, Darcy: you are a true friend. However,” and here he frowned, “I do not hold with this idea that you are somehow…lesser? You are the hero of your own tale, and should be thought of as such.”

“Aw,” Darcy scooted over so she could give him a one-armed hug, “that’s maybe the sweetest thing anybody’s ever said to me. Tell you what, big guy, I’ll be your sidekick anytime you need me, and you can be mine – that way everything’s even-steven.”

“This seems a fair exchange,” he allowed, gently hugging her back. “I accept.”

Well, she was already having more fun than she’d expected, so…yay?

“Sidekicks,” Bucky said, just loud enough that Darcy tuned in, “Stark’s a real piece of work.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered.

“How so?” Steve asked, turning to her, and she cursed his stupidly enhanced senses.

“Well,” she dithered, “he may have, you know, made reference to you guys being kind of like the Bat family?” From Bucky’s blank expression she guessed that that hadn’t yet made it to his lets-fill-in-the-intermittently-frozen-dude pop culture lessons, whereas Sam and Steve were both frowning in an I-get-it-but-I-don’t-get-it manner.

“He referred to you,” she pointed at Sam, “as Nightwing, and you,” she pointed at Bucky, “as Jason Todd,” which, now she thought of it, was not the most flattering description in the world, ouch. Hastily, she went on, “So, Steve, I guess that makes YOU Batman. Which…doesn’t really fit, in my opinion. You’re more Clark Kent than Bruce Wayne.”

Somehow, though she successfully diverted them from thinking too hard about the Bucky-as-Jason thing, the conversation devolved into a debate about which member of the Avengers was equivalent to which of the (thankfully fictional) Justice League. Thor and Bucky watched the three of them debate things, which was awesome because it led to Steve offering asides to the two of them (but mostly for Bucky) to explain things, like:

“Tony is _so_ the Green Arrow,” she declared.

“But… _arrow?_ ” Bucky asked, confused.

“He’s a cocky rich guy who likes to throw his weight around,” Steve offered.

“Ah.”

It was fun. Especially since, when they reached the bar, they were still arguing:

“Natasha is _not_ Wonder Woman,” Darcy was saying, staunch in her opinions.

“Oh, really?” Sam asked, amused.

“Because she’s _Batman,_ ” Darcy finished.

“Wait, who’s Batman?” Tony broke into the conversation as they all started heading into the bar.

“Natasha is Batman because she’s a ninja.”

“Wait, if _she’s_ Batman, who’s Steve?”

“Superman.”

“And Wonder Woman?”

“Thor.”

“…and I’m?”

Darcy smiled sweetly, “Green Arrow. We agreed on that one first, actually.”

Tony glared at her, “I resent that.”

“You _resemble_ that, Tony,” a new voice broke in. Darcy turned to see a black guy, around Tony’s age – must be the college bestie – wearing a polo shirt and a smirk. “Billionaire playboy who fights crime with his special tech? Think that suits you to a tee.”

“You cannot compare _trick arrows_ to the _Iron Man suit!_ ”

College bestie gave him a slow grin, “Think I just did.”

Tony honest-to-god _squawked_ in indignation.

“Mister,” Darcy held out a hand to college bestie, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

College bestie looked like she’d hit him over the head with a frying pan.

Tony started laughing, which, it wasn’t that funny? What the hell?

“Dude,” Darcy turned to the inventor, “what gives?”

“You – “ he got out between guffaws, “and he always thought - _oh my god_ , I have to call Pepper, this is _priceless_.” He whipped out his phone and started texting, probably because he was still giggling a little too wildly for normal conversation.

When she turned back to college bestie, hoping he had some sort of explanation for Tony’s ridiculous (moreso than usual) behavior, she found him _still staring at her_ , or, rather, _through_ her. He had a full-on thousand-yard stare going and it was kind of freaking her out. She’d never sent anyone into a fugue state before, and she was sort of surprised that Tony was taking her doing it to his _bestie_ so well.

She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes until they trained on her.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, “just trying to redefine my worldview.”

Darcy’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah,” he said, “kind of like that.”

“Oh. Yeah, wow. Not drunk enough for this,” Darcy decided. “You’re buying me a drink.”

“Yeah, okay, what’ll you have?” Bestie seemed to feel a little better with a clear objective.

“Lot of a vodka, little bit of cranberry juice.”

He paused, then, “Fair enough.”

When he returned with their drinks, Tony was still texting and Darcy was in the middle of explaining the situation to an increasingly amused looking Natasha. There was a lot of flailing and, maybe, possibly, some whisper screaming involved in the explanation which _might_ account for some of the restrained hilarity peeking through on the spysassin’s face.

“So, you are the soulmate.”

“Um,” bestie looked like he was rapidly reaching his ‘freaked’ threshold. “Looks that way?”

Natasha nodded, then gave him a smile that showed _all of her teeth oh my god,_ and walked away.

“That is one scary lady,” bestie said, watching her go.

Darcy couldn’t fault him, Natasha walking was a pretty arresting sight. “Yup.”

“So,” bestie said, looking down at his drink (mixed, like hers), “are you a lesbian? In a relationship?”

“WHAT?”

He shrugged, looking _deeply_ uncomfortable, “’Beginning of a beautiful friendship?’ Seemed like a decent assumption to make.”

“It’s a quote! From _Casablanca!_ ”

Bestie frowned, “I don’t think the quote goes quite like that.”

Darcy stared at her soulmate and made an executive decision: “I am not drunk enough for this.”

Famous. Last. Words.

When she woke up the next morning, she was in a bed she didn’t recognize, wrapped up around a man she _barely_ recognized, and face-to-well, definitely _not_ his face with _her own handwriting_ (which she _easily_ recognized) scrawled across a well-muscled back.

“Fucking _Stark_ ,” she muttered.

“Amen,” bestie – aka James or “Rhodey” - groaned.

“So.”

“So.”

“Neither of us are lesbians.” Darcy winced, “I mean _gay_. Whatever.”

“Looks like.”

“…wanna get breakfast?”

“Sure.”

They sat up, and Darcy tried not to be disappointed that that meant she had to untangle her arms from where they were wrapped around him. It would take a little more wiggling to untangle their legs from where they were wrapped in the sheets and each other. “Like pancakes?” she asked.

“Make it waffles,” Rhodey sighed, rubbing his temples, “and you got a deal.”

Darcy grinned, “Rhodey, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful – “

He kissed her.

It was _way_ better not-drunk. Less-drunk. Whatever they were.


	14. saving (breaking) you, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early this week because there's a good chance I'll be conscripted for free babysitting for my EXTREMELY prego sis-in-law (eight months pregnant and EVERYONE thinks the bb will be coming early), which I'm kinda looking forward to, actually. BUT! They don't exactly leave me with much (hah, _any_ ) time to write.
> 
> So, here, have the sequel chapter you were all asking about (sort of).
> 
> And, yes, in my headcanon, sad!teen!Darcy gives up on changing the world and decides to change _individuals_ by becoming a kick-ass nurse. Honestly, this is mostly because 1) I have a lot of respect for nurses and 2) while I think it's nifty that they made Jane an astrophysicist, I also liked her original backstory.
> 
> Also, also, I am punchdrunk on lack of sleep (assholes setting off fireworks outside) so expect another chapter soonish, once I can figure out this sex scene. Because, apparently, when I'm having trouble with the platonic-soulmate story featuring asexual!Darcy (seriously, you guys, it was supposed to be a short fluff piece about the wonders of non-sexual cuddles, it's currently 4000 words and counting of how-do-I-platonic angsty relationship building, _and I haven't even introduced Darcy's second soulmate yet_ ), I turn to writing _sexy_ scenes to try and work through it. My muse is a contrary creature.

The first time Darcy saw her soulmate again, he was on the news. She was coming off the end of a double shift, exhausted, annoyed, and just plain _done_ with idiot patients and condescending doctors (not all of them but _just enough_ to grind her last nerve) and the whole system. There were days when she regretted becoming a nurse, any day that involved Dr. Manse was one of them.

She was zoning out in the locker room, halfway through stripping her scrubs and putting on her day clothes – because after sixteen hours there was _no way_ she was wearing those scrubs for a minute longer than she _absolutely had to_ \- when someone unmuted the television in the corner. The blast of sound had her jerking around, glaring at Tina.

“Headache?” the other nurse asked, sympathetic.

“Ugh, _you have no idea_. Do you have to watch that?”

Tina gave her a disbelieving look, “Yes! They finally unmasked that bionic guy who’s been fighting with the Avengers! Well, fighting _against_ and now fighting _for_. Apparently it’s some war hero from, get this, _World War Two_ by way of Russia. Or Hydra.” She paused, shrugged then went on, “It’s all sort of Cold War and they’re being cagey about information but more and more has been leaking out.”

“World War Two?” Darcy wrinkled her nose, “If the Captain knows him, that would explain him switching sides, maybe?”

Tina shrugged, “Makes about as much sense as _bionic arms_. Sure.”

They turned to the television, where commentators were discussing the socio-political ramifications of a bad-guy who was now a good-guy who had been a good-guy originally until he was brainwashed by a militant separatist group – they were throwing around words like “alleged” and “supposed,” which probably meant the situation was more complicated (fucked up) and they were trying to cover their asses – that nobody wanted to acknowledge ties to. It was the sort of thing that Darcy had, at one time, been thoroughly invested in.

Now it just made her tired.

_More_ tired.

“How long have the talking heads been…talking?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, off and on all day,” Tina said. “Sometimes they cut to portions of the press conference.”

Right on cue, the image on the television switched from a bunch of old white guys to a bunch of _extremely_ attractive and dangerous-looking people, all seated along a long white table in various states of tension while bright lights flashed and questions were hurled at them like dodgeballs at a pack of nerds.

At the center of the group were two _highly_ recognizable figures: Captain America and –

“Fuck,” Darcy muttered, swaying a little where she stood.

“Yeah,” Tina said, “pretty hot for relics, aren’t they?”

She swallowed hard despite her suddenly bone-dry throat instead of answering. Next to Captain America sat a man she never thought she’d see again, one she wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to see again. Her soulmate. She’d seen him once, for maybe five minutes, but his face was burned into her memory.

It helped that, somehow, in spite of _ten years_ he looked _exactly the same._

“Uh, did they say what his name was?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, also called ‘Bucky.’” Tina snorted, “He is the _last_ person I could picture calling _Bucky_.”

“The Captain _does_ know him, then,” Darcy said, still staring at the screen. “They were best friends growing up.”

“And you know this _how_ , exactly?”

“Political history nerd.”

“Right,” Tina nodded, going for her own locker since the news coverage wasn’t actually offering her anything _new_.

Darcy stumbled through the rest of her routine, only muscle-memory saving her from face-planting several times since she couldn’t take her eyes of the screen, or the info-crawl scrolling along across the bottom of it. _Brainwashed_ it said, and also _assassin?_ and, the thing that made her flinch: _memory loss_.

She wondered if he’d forgotten her.

Well, she reasoned, he couldn’t really _forget_ forget, since (she assumed) her words were still on him. Not that her words were particularly noteworthy, just some mumbling about him being her soulmate…not that that information had mattered to him at the time. So, there was that. He definitely knew she existed, but he might not necessarily know that they’d met.

It was strange to think that a meeting so totally ingrained in her memory might not even exist in _his_.

Still, he _might_ remember her. But then, either way, did it really matter? He’d rejected her. Or had he? He was brainwashed, right? Darcy let her head thunk against her locker after she closed it, feeling the dull throbbing of her headache slowly increasing to migraine-proportions. Joy.

“I’m heading out,” she called to Tina, “you can go ahead and crank the volume if you want.”

“Thanks,” she called back, “feel better!”

“Not likely,” Darcy muttered, shouldering her bag and heading out.

She called a taxi instead of taking the bus. Migraine + soulmate bullshit was reason enough to treat herself to a _vastly_ shortened commute. Her apartment, when she reached it, was blessedly cool: thank the lord for air conditioning. Darcy stumbled into her bedroom and flopped face-first into her bed. After a moment or two of debate, she wriggled around enough to shuck her shoes and jeans, and then allowed herself the blissful oblivion of sleep.

Darcy didn’t dream often. Tonight was, unfortunately, an exception. She woke trembling and crying, remembering feelings of loss and an endless, _fruitless_ hunt for something, or some _one_. She went straight to the bathroom and into the shower, not even waiting for it to heat up: it wasn’t the first time she’d had that particular dream, nor would it be the last, no doubt. She had it every time she thought too long or too hard about _him_. She’d had it ever since she met him, and he rejected her: thirteen-year-old Darcy’s worst-case scenario regarding her soulmate had left a bit of a mark.

She leaned her forehead against the shower wall and let the slowly-warming water beat down on her neck and shoulders. It was a stupid dream. She didn’t need to find him, she already had! Or he had found _her_. Whatever. Still, this whole thing was drawing up memories and feelings and…he was joining the Avengers, wasn’t he? That had been the whole point of the press conference: introducing him to the world as James-the-Avenger, not James-the-Bad-Guy.

So. It wasn’t like she could avoid Avengers news coverage. For one thing, it was _everywhere_ , for another, news coverage involving the Avengers tended to be the _important_ , world-ending (or at least changing), sort of stuff that she took an interest in, both because of her political interests and because, well, she sort of lived on the planet and was kind of invested in it continuing to spin.

Darcy went through the rest of her shower routine mindlessly, trying to figure out what to do. Closure. She needed some sort of _closure_. Like a break-up. Sort of. All those years ago, he’d left her, just… _left_. She never got a chance to really say _anything_ to him. Over the years, especially her teenage ones, she’d had dozens of silent debates with him, imagined hundreds of ways they could meet again. Now, knowing what she knew (re: brainwashed, memory loss, etc.) and hopefully a little more mature than that heartbroken thirteen-year-old, she just…didn’t know what to say.

He might not even remember her.

Heck, Darcy thought, her words were pretty ambiguous, and she was pretty sure there’d been some stuttering in there since she’d been thirteen and full of adrenaline because _gun_ and soulmate and, oh yeah, _really big gun_ , there was a possibility that he might think he’d _killed_ her on one of his missions.

Okay, that was a little farfetched. Still.

In the end, she penned a short note - _’I’m alive. You obviously didn’t kill me, in case you were wondering.’_ Short, simple, and no identifying information he could use to track her (ie: no name or return address) - took a picture of her soulmark (which, since it was located just above her _generous_ cleavage, was probably the most awkward sexy-looking-but-not selfie of all time) and stuck them in the mail, sent to Stark Tower or Avengers Tower or whatever the hell they were calling it these days. It would get to him eventually. Probably. At the very least, it made her feel a little better, and that was what was important.

That done, she made the conscious decision to avoid all internet or television activity for the rest of her weekend off and decided to binge-watch a season or two of Grey’s Anatomy. The soulmate issues in that show made her feel slightly less insane, even if their problems were fictional and hers weren’t.

A girl’s gotta have _some_ sort of coping mechanism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, sexy!Steve/Darcy to follow shortly. Also, can anyone tell me why, when I manage to write nice(ish)!guy!Jonny Storm, I somehow then end up writing overtly!sexual!Steve? I was trying to base his characterization around the assertive!Steve headcanons that occasionally pop up, but I think I overshot it straight into verging-on-Dom territory.
> 
> Or maybe this is just what happens when I write while tired. Bah.
> 
> Also also, I realize that my deep and abiding love for Natasha & Darcy friendship has slipped into…basically every story. Sorry?


	15. old-fashioned approach (more direct than you'd expect)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: I am going to warn for dub-con in this chapter, although it's questionable.**
> 
>  
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> 
>  
> 
> Still, just in case: this fic features a rather, erm, _forceful_ Steve. **MORE EXPLICIT/SPOILERY EXPLANATION OF THE DUB-CON IN THE NOTES AT THE BOTTOM.** Think 'we have ways of making you talk' only with sexy, not hurty. In fact, I think that's the perfect subtitle for this ficlet (which is honestly too long to go in here, but I am tired and want to post this before I crash).
> 
> So, apparently this is what happens when I write sexy scenes while sleepy. Enjoy?

Darcy had always been sort of amused by her soulmark: ‘Oh! I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t realize anyone was around to hear that…’ It made her wonder what, exactly, nobody was supposed to have heard. She pretty much assumed it was something embarrassing: something dangerous would not have engendered such a _polite_ reaction.

She figured she’d say something suave or witty or situation appropriate in response, since she knew they’d speak first. She didn’t actually _practice_ a response because she wasn’t a complete tool. She just sort of thought that, well, she knew what they’d say, so she was prepared: she wouldn’t be going in blind, wouldn’t be surprised.

Wrong. So, totally wrong. _The wrongest of wrongs._

She’d been living in the Tower with Jane, Thor, and the rest of the motley crew (or most of it, apparently there were a few crusades going on) for close to a month when she stumbled into the main kitchen and found a six-foot-forever hunk of beautiful blonde perfection cursing up a storm.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he was muttering, trying to mop up what looked like spilled milk ( _hot_ milk, judging by the red mark down his arm), “Fucking useless piece of modern plastic _garbage_ …” He looked up, and Darcy was treated to the sight of his ridiculously chiseled jaw – with _just_ enough stubble to be _interesting_ \- and bright blue eyes and _holy Thor, this was Captain America!_

“Oh!” he said, spotting her. He started to blush, and it was _fascinating:_ spreading down his neck to the tops of his pecs – which were flirting with the low neck of his muscle tank (and _oh_ , what muscles!) – she couldn’t help but wonder how much farther it would go. He smiled at her sheepishly, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t realize anyone was around to hear that….”

Wait. Back the fuck up.

Darcy stared at him, mouth opening and closing on nothing but choked silence while he stared back, starting to look a little concerned, and then she just…slowly backed up through the doorway until he was out of sight and then _ran the fuck away_.

Nope. Nope nope nope nope _nope_. Not prepared, _she was not prepared._

Darcy may or may not have been able to follow through on her decision to stay in her room for the rest of her life, they would never really know since Natasha decided to pull a Clint and shimmy into Darcy’s living room through one of the vents. After Darcy was done squeaking at her in indignation because _that’s not what vents are for, Nat_ and _closed doors mean I WANT PRIVACY, Nat_ with a side of _…wait, do you actually watch us sleep?_ , Nat quirked a brow and asked curiously:

“Why is Steve convinced that he has mortally offended you with his ‘foul language?’”

Darcy buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know?”

“That was not convincing, Darcy.”

“I know, but don’t want to say?”

Nat settled herself on the chair nearest the couch and raised her eyebrows in silent inquiry.

“I went to the kitchen to get some coffee and I think he spilled something hot on himself because he was cursing and his arm was red and shouldn’t the serum fix that I mean I thought he was basically immune to injuries mere mortals get and anyways he saw me and apologized and I kind of ran away.”

“Darcy…” The redhead folded her legs underneath her, a sign she was settling in. “Why did you run away?”

“Um. I don’t really want to answer that question. On account of it’s insane.”

“You are insane, or the reason is insane?”

“The second one.”

Again with the inquiry eyebrows.

“I’m pretty sure, like, about ninety percent sure that he’s my soulmate?”

Nat’s eyebrows had gone from curious to ‘genuinely surprised.’ “Huh,” she said.

“See, I was less with the ‘huh-ing’ and more with the _’what the actual fuck-ing.’_ ” Darcy fixed wide eyes on the spysassin, “I mean, that’s crazy, right? How in the hell can he be my soulmate? More to the point, how can _I_ be _his_ soulmate?! He’s almost ninety!”

“Are you really going to count the years he was frozen?”

“Okay, fine, but still! He’s,” she made a vague gesture, “and I’m,” another gesture, this one slightly more emphatic, “so how would that even,” she threw up her hands, “it _can’t_ , it just _can’t_. Or _I_ can’t, or maybe he _shouldn’t_ , I don’t know.”

Nat had her thinking face on, it was basically a slight variation on her ‘problem solving’ face, only this one was slightly less likely to end in bloody mayhem (she and Clint had a _very odd_ relationship). “Darcy,” she sad calmly, “are you intimidated by _who_ he is, or _what_ he is?”

“I…don’t understand the question?”

“If he was Steve, _just_ Steve, would you still be having this…freak out?”

Darcy gave that its due consideration. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he is _hot like the sun_. He’s the kind of hot that you ogle and have happy solo fantasies about, not the kind of hot that girls like me get to _go home to!_ He’s _completely_ out of my league! We don’t even play the same sport!”

Nat smiled, which was always a little frightening, “Have you ever seen a picture of him before the serum?”

“Yeeeees… why?”

“Because, pre-serum, he probably would have said something similar about _you_.”

Darcy sort of stared at her because nope, no, did not compute. “But he’s _not_ pre-serum,” she finally whined. “He’s, you know, _him_. Made of truth, justice, and all of the hotness that human eyes can stand.”

Nat sighed, “Are you determined to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing I say can dissuade you?”

“Nope.”

“Alright, would you mind if I use your bathroom before I leave?”

“Nah, it’s – “

“I know.”

Darcy waited in the living room for Nat to finish and go. Waited. Then waited some more. Finally, ten minutes later (she had a very healthy respect for Nat’s bodily functions, as in _she did not want to die interrupting them_ ), she got up, and went to check the bathroom.

It was empty, and – when she looked – so was the rest of her apartment.

“Nat,” she called, “if you’re still here and just being _extra creepy_ , I am going to,” she tried to think of a suitable threat, “be _very upset_ in your general direction for, like, a _week_. Tears and complaining to Thor may be involved.”

Okay, it wasn’t a very _threatening_ threat, but it was a threat.

Still, no spysassin popping up. Darcy shrugged, and went to get a snack…

Which was when she discovered Natasha’s dastardly plan: all the food was gone. _All_ of it. Even the extra stash of chocolate she kept tucked under her dresser, which, _how had she known_. Plus, it had been _ten minutes_ , HOW?! How did she do it all? She was a little too impressed to be _really_ angry, but she _was_ extremely annoyed. Nat’s plan was to smoke her out, well, _starve_ her out, really.

Sometimes it sucked living in a place full of smart, sneaky people. _Really_ sucked.

She tried to be equally smart and sneaky and plan out her food raid, but eventually just got hungry enough that she just went for it. She dressed in a dark shirt (red, with a Gryffindor lion for much-needed courage) and her stealthiest pajama shorts (black and purple flannel), and snuck from her room at around three in the morning. Darcy, pulling out yet another Harry Potter-ism, kept a small compact mirror with her to peek around corners. Of course, what she didn’t take into account was that _seeing_ somebody before they saw you didn’t really matter if they moved a whole helluva lot _faster_ than you.

Darcy barely had time to register the Captain’s lurking form before he had a hand wrapped around her wrist and was yanking her towards him. She got out a ‘meep’ as he tossed her over his shoulder, which…kind of put her in prime ass-ogling territory, and it was a _really nice_ ass. Stellar, even, and she _knew_ stellar, having ogled the asses of all the visiting Asgardians.

She opened her mouth to shout, but shut it just as quickly. He couldn’t be her soulmate if she just _never said anything_ to him, right? _Right._ She would just…not talk to the super soldier currently lugging her towards…the elevator? Darcy very quietly freaked out and started punching him in the kidneys. He didn’t even have the courtesy to flinch a little, instead just standing perfectly still once the elevator doors closed, practically in _parade rest_. She glowered and, well, then she did something she wasn’t exactly proud of, even though it _was_ pretty satisfying (since she _finally_ got a reaction out of him!):

She pinched his (delightfully firm) ass.

His whole body jerked and, “ _Darcy_ ,” he said, his voice full of some vague warning.

Darcy was…not the best at self-preservation, re: Puente Antiguo, London, etc. So she pinched him again (other cheek).

This time the Captain _pinched her back._

She was still trying her darnedest not to say anything, so instead of a surprised yelp what came out was a breathy gasp of shock and indignation. Steve chuckled, the sound rumbling through her, and Darcy punched him again. _This_ time he _swatted_ her on the ass, and she bit her lip so hard, staying silent, that she nearly drew blood.

_Son of a BITCH!_

The ding of the elevator as they stepped out made her lift her head, trying to figure out where they were. She didn’t recognize the hall, so they were probably on – oh, no way. Wasn’t he supposed to have _manners?_ Darcy felt distinctly betrayed by all and sundry as Steve let himself (and, by extension, _her_ ) into his apartment. The hand that was holding her steady over his shoulder slipped from the small of her back to her ass when he opened the door, she wasn’t sure if it was accidental or not.

And she _sure as hell_ wasn’t going to _ask_ him.

Steve moved through his dark apartment on sure feet, not pausing or flipping a light on till he reached the kitchen. Once there, he gently unslung her from his shoulder – which seemed to involve slightly more _handsy_ motions than getting her _up_ there had – and settled her on the counter, which left her feet dangling and, since he settled himself between her thighs with a hand on each knee, kind of in a poor position for escape.

Darcy folded her arms over her Gryffindor lion and glared at him. He was _smiling_ at her, the asshole! Outright _grinning_ like he’d just won the freakin’ lottery, or something! It was a really good look on him, especially with the stubble, but she kept up her glare.

He leaned forward and said, “Hot like the sun, huh?”

 _Oh no she didn’t!_ Well, Nat was officially off her Christmas card list. Not that the spysassin knew she’d ever been _on_ it.

Darcy stared at him, mortified.

Steve shook his head, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

_Wait, what?_

She blinked up at him (because even sitting on the counter he was still several inches taller than her) and tried not to jerk when he started rubbing his thumbs in slow circles on the insides of her knees. She wasn’t actually sure if he was aware that he was doing it, but _she_ sure as shit was, she’d accidentally discovered how sensitive she was there with college boyfriend #3, who had then spent their every shared class (thankfully few) working her up with just a few subtle squeezes.

He hadn’t lasted all that long, really, but, well, there was a _reason_ he’d lasted out that semester.

“You’re _gorgeous_ ,” Steve told her earnestly, “you look…” He ducked his head a little in embarrassment and it was adorable, and hot( _nobody should get to be both_ , especially not at the same time!), “You look like somebody who woulda been painted onto the noses of airplanes, like a pin-up, but _better_ because you’re _real_.”

Darcy opened her mouth, and he looked hopeful for a second, then she snapped it back shut. He leaned into her and rested his forehead against hers. Up close like this, she couldn’t help but notice how _big_ he was. Not just tall, but _broad._ She felt positively _dainty_ , which, considering how short she was (she knew, thanks), happened surprisingly rarely.

“I’m not letting you go until you say it,” he told her, turning his head a little, which muffled his voice in her hair. “I can stand here all night, if I have to, but…” he smiled, and it made her shiver, “Nat had a few suggestions for how I might get a reaction outta you.”

Off the Christmas card list and _onto_ the shit list. She could probably get Tony invol –

His hands were so large that he’d barely needed to move to slip his thumbs under her knees, giving the soft skin there a firm stroke that had her jerking against his grip. She immediately unfolded her arms, hands instead going to wrap around his wrists, tugging futilely against them in an attempt to make him _stop driving her crazy_.

“Are you ticklish?” he asked and _seriously?_ His expression was innocent though, so maybe he really didn’t know? He kept up the motions, just a very soft touch, barely brushing her, really, punctuated every so often by a firm squeeze. She grabbed for his thumbs, this time, but he pulled her closer to the edge of the counter and pushed himself nearer to _her_ to keep her from reaching.

There were a lot of things she was feeling right now, ‘tickled’ wasn’t one of them.

“ _Not_ ticklish?” he asked, and, judging by the grin he was now sporting, he knew _exactly_ what he was doing to her. He scraped his thumbnails _very_ lightly over her skin and Darcy whimpered.

Her breath was coming a little faster, now, and she seriously just…could not believe it. Her soulmate was Captain America and he was currently trying to _seduce_ her into talking to him because _the Black Widow_ told him how to do it.

(She both did, and did _not_ want to know how _Nat_ knew about the knee-thing.)

“Darcy, just say something. _Anything_. Whatever comes to mind.” Steve leaned in again, this time aiming for her ear and whispering _directly into it_ , angling so that every word caused his lips to brush against the sensitive skin: “I can be _very, very_ patient, Darcy. Being in the army involves a whole lotta ‘hurry up and wait.’ I’m perfectly happy to just stand here and wait,” he told her, never once letting up on that gentle stroking and squeezing that was making her breath come short and had her thighs starting to shake. “I never had a soulmark till I woke up here, in the future. I had to wait more than seventy years to find you, but you know what? _It was worth it._ ”

She broke: “Steve. Steve, _please!_ ”

His lips were on hers in an instant, his kiss demanding and _scorching hot_. She moved her hands from his wrists to his shirt, grabbing it and bringing him closer, wriggling a little to try and bridge what little gap there remained between them. She nipped at his lower lip, a little harder than she normally would because part of her was still kinda mad, and he groaned low in his throat, pulling his lips from hers so he could skim them along her jawline on his way to her neck.

Steve whispered a soft, “Damn,” into the skin of her neck and she laughed.

“You always gonna swear around me?” He answered her with a bite to her throat that had her wrapping her calves around the backs of his thighs. He’d never stopped his ministrations to her knees and she couldn’t handle it anymore, it felt like he kept working her higher and higher, she just – “Steve, I can’t – I need – “

“What do you need?” he asked, voice more than a little strained. He pulled back from her and fixed her with an intent look, “ _Who_ do you need?”

“I need _you!_ ”

“What do you need from me, Darcy?”

“I-I need you to touch me,” she breathed, whole body twitching when he gripped both her knees just that little bit more tightly, pressing his thumbs in _hard_. “I need to come,” she gasped, staring into his eyes, “I need you to make me come!”

He smiled, but it had a feral edge to it: “All you had to do, all you _ever_ have to do, is tell me.”

Steve gave her right knee one final, firm press and then slid his hand up her thigh to the loose hem of her shorts, then further, to where she was warm, and wet, and craving his touch. She felt his fingers trace in a circle over her panties, where the material had grown wet, all the while he never took his eyes off her face. When he pulled the cloth to one side and slid his fingers over her, it became too much, too intense. She shut her eyes and pressed her forehead to his shoulder, panting.

He ran his fingers up and down her folds, slowly expanding on those motions: circling her opening on this pass, a quick brush against her clit on the next. Her hands had moved to clench at his biceps as she tried to anchor herself to something solid since it felt like she was about to fly apart. At last, he gently, oh-so slowly, slid one finger into her, the instant tightening of her internal muscles in reaction making him bite off an oath above her.

 _The swearing, definitely going to be a Thing,_ she thought fuzzily.

She tried to shift against his hand but that only made him release her knee and grab at her hip, holding her still for his methodical touch. One finger became two, then three, never thrusting or curling like she wanted them to, just rubbing, very, very gently against her until she’d relaxed around the latest. It didn’t seem like he was planning on adding a fourth, though, and Darcy was close, _so_ close that she was on the verge of tears:

“What are you _waiting_ for?”

“Say them again,” he demanded.

“What?”

“Your words.”

“My wha – oh.” She swallowed, then turned her head so her lips ran lightly over his neck: “Steve. Steve, _please!_ ”

He pressed his thumb to her clit and she was just _gone_ , whole body prickling, shivering, _shaking_ out of her control as he finally curled his fingers inside of her, thumb still pressing against her. Darcy was gasping, crying out a wordless litany of, “ _Ahn! Ahn! Ahn!_ ” into his shoulder while she broke into a million pieces of light.

Slowly, she started to pull herself back together, a process made difficult by the fact that she was still quivering around his fingers inside of her. Steve made a ‘come hither’ gesture and she cried out, spasming around him again: not sure if it was a whole new orgasm or just a continuation of the first. She was rocking against his hand, but it was a toss-up as to whether she was trying to press him deeper or push him _away_ , her body pinging with pleasure, nerves edging towards overstimulation.

“How you feeling, Darcy?” Steve asked, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

“Like my soulmate is a Star-Spangled _Asshole_ ,” Darcy muttered, then whined desperately when he crooked his fingers again. “ _Jesus,_ Steve, I – I can’t, I _can’t_ \- “

“You sure?” He slid his thumb up to rock back and forth over the hood of her clit, indirect pressure that had her clenching her teeth over another whimper. “God, you feel _perfect_ ,” he said, voice full of wonder, “I think I could make you come for a _week_ and never get over the way you feel around me, the _sounds_ you make.”

“A _week?!_ ” She would die. She would _actually die_.

“Maybe two,” he said thoughtfully, very carefully slipping his fingers out of her.

“Steve. Steve, _no_. I would not survive that, I almost didn’t survive _this!_ ”

“I like the way you say my name. My soulmark – I worried, but,” she felt him shiver a little, “I like the way you say it.” After a pause, “And the way you say ‘please.’”

“You seemed so polite,” Darcy said mournfully, “you _apologized_ for _swearing_. What the hell was _this?_ ”

“I’m _very_ polite,” Steve dissented, tilting her head up until she could see his downright _hungry_ smile. He pressed his hips against hers, a very _sizeable_ bulge rubbing against her core in a way that made her eyes go wide and threaten to roll back in her skull. “I was just being chivalrous,” he told her, “ _ladies first._ ”

“Steve…” she moaned. He was going to kill her. With orgasms.

“ _And_ second, and third,” he smirked, “We could even shoot for fourth, if you’re up for it.”

“We ever going to actually _talk?_ ” she asked.

“You didn’t seem too keen on that, so I thought I’d tire you out so you couldn’t run away from me for being _too hot_ again.”

“Oh. Good plan.”

“If you want, I can just walk you back to your room right now. But you have to _promise me_ that you will get a meal with me tomorrow, and _not run away_ ,” he told her, completely serious.

“I – “ she thought about it: Captain America was kind of intimidating. Steve Rogers was unfairly hot and _really good with his hands_ and, she looked up at his hopeful expression, _really_ into her. “I don’t think I can handle any more strenuous activities tonight,” she told him honestly, “especially after Nat stole _all my food_. Sleep. We will sleep, and then tomorrow we can go get a meal. And have sex.”

He smiled, “Sounds great, now,” he winced a little, “I need to go take care of this before we – “

She quirked a brow at him, “Me helping you with that? Not strenuous.”

Steve looked delighted, “Really.”

“’Ladies first’ doesn’t mean ‘ladies only,’ _Steve._ ”

“And second,” he reminded her, “and – “

“I get it! But we need to sleep at some point, so,” she slowly started trailing her hand down the front of his chest towards his pants, “I’ve got a plan for my Star Spangled Man, any objections?”

“None whatsoever.”

 _I think,_ Darcy thought, watching Steve’s expression of bliss as her hand closed around him, _I’ll have to put Nat back on the Christmas card list. But she’s still getting some coal in her stocking this year._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dub-con explanation: Darcy discovers that Steve is her soulmate and, although she is attracted to him, is too intimidated to speak to him. She plans to _never_ speak to him, but through Natasha's interference, is put into a situation where Steve uses sensual touches to get her to talk to him. Steve would absolutely stop if she told him to, especially because _her talking_ is the entire point of what he's doing, but she is not there entirely of her own free will. In the end, she gives enthusiastic consent. Think eighties-romance-novel awkward sexual power dynamics? IDK. Please feel free to skip if you think you might be triggered/squicked by it.**
> 
> Here! *throws 4,000 words of sexy!Steve at you* This is for you, because I <3 you all and want you to be happy.
> 
> (And/or horny? IDK.)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has sent happy thoughts/well wishes/good karma to my sis-in-law *tacklehugs awesome people* Seriously, you guys are SO MUCH FUN to write for! (Also seriously: sex scenes, yay or nay?)


	16. saving (breaking) you, part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …it's still within 24 hours of my first post this week, so I'm counting this in my 'one posting day a week' plan. I'm actually not sure if posting this was kind (because you guys seem to like this storyline _a lot_ ) or mean (you'll see why).
> 
>  
> 
> Also: Darcy expresses a semi-political opinion about FOX and their reporters. I don't _actually_ think they're idiots (but their lady-reporters do kind of scare me because they're all blonde and tan and blue-eyed and look like they could be sisters, it's like FOX has its own version of Disney's Child Star Farm - WHICH I FIRMLY BELIEVE EXISTS).

Darcy tried to put the whole ‘my soulmate is a superhero’ thing out of her head after sending off the note, but, while doing so had brought her a certain sense of peace, it was difficult to ignore a person as famous (infamous?) as James. He was on the news every other day, it seemed. All of the old information from the massive dump of Hydra/SHIELD resources onto the Internet was being being combed through by hundreds, if not _thousands_ of conspiracy theorists, all trying to figure out when, how, or _if_ James had participated in Hydra’s plans.

Public opinion ranged from ‘poor lost lamb’ to ‘he should be executed.’ Points the former extreme tried to make included the whole ‘brainwashed’ thing, points the latter extreme made were pretty focused on the idea that there was ‘no statue of limitations on _murder._ ’ For once in her life, Darcy was very, _very_ careful to avoid having a public opinion. The Avengers were _always_ hot gossip, and she was known for her political leanings (okay, _obsessions_ ), so she was asked by coworkers rather frequently.

She tried to take a middle path, tried to detach herself from the fact that she _was talking about her soulmate._

It was…frustrating. Darcy had managed to avoid thinking about him for long stretches of times, for _years_ , and now he was _everywhere_ , inescapable. She would have resented him for it, but she was a little too busy pitying him.

Every time she saw him on the television, whether he was fighting alongside the Avengers (when shit got weird, it got weird _with a vengeance_ ) or giving an interview, he looked so _tired_. He seemed exhausted, body and soul. She knew that, if he was _not_ her soulmate, if he _was not_ the man who had crushed her younger self, she would be defending him.

More information on the memory loss had come out: he’d been mind-wiped, or something, on a semi-regular basis for _seventy years_. Just the idea of something like that happening made her break out into a cold sweat. Add in the bionic arm, which had – apparently – been surgically attached to his body _during World War Two_ and Darcy’s nightmares had new fodder.

She still wasn’t sure how much he remembered, though. She had looked up the word he called her, the one on her soulmark: _кукла_ , years ago. It meant ‘doll.’ He’d called her ‘doll,’ which… wasn’t exactly assassin lingo. So how much had he been himself, really, when they’d met?

It was fucking confusing, and gave her a headache. Darcy had spent so long being angry that it was a hard habit to break, but…she’d been a kid. Even without his whole crazy backstory, it wasn’t like they could have had the fairytale she’d envisioned as a child: their ages were too far apart. Hell, were it not for whatever-it-was that had been done to him, he would be in his _nineties_ now, assuming he was even alive!

Headache city, population: Darcy.

She couldn’t keep herself from watching the coverage, though. Couldn’t keep her trained eyes from noticing the strain and tension that seemed to mount in him, day after day. She sort of wished there was something she could do for him, but – at the same time – she was still all sorts of conflicted about him.

After a few weeks, she started sending him short letters, all much like the first one. If _that_ one had gotten through, then these would too, and it was clear that the handwriting matched. If that one _hadn’t_ gotten through, then it was likely that these wouldn’t, either, so – again – it wasn’t really much. It made her feel better, though.

The notes started out small, little comments on his condition - _You should try and get a decent night’s rest. You’re starting to look like a raccoon._ \- or advice - _Fox reporters are always assholes. Don’t talk to them, stupid._ \- and the occasional remark on his Avenger look - _Have you considered a haircut? Or a ponytail? Seriously, you look like a hobo. A heroic hobo, but still a hobo._

Time passed, and the world got used to James, or “Bucky,” just like it had gotten used to Natasha Romanova, Steve Rogers, and aliens. The coverage didn’t die out entirely, but it got a lot less… _pointed_ , but by this time Darcy was _invested_. She still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about her soulmate, but he seemed like a decent sort of person, so she wanted him to be…not miserable?

And he looked miserable. _Really_ miserable.

He kept giving interviews, she wasn’t really sure why, always with Captain America or the Black Widow at his back. In every single one, he looked…sort of lost? She didn’t really know how to properly describe his expression, but it made her heart hurt. She tried to give him feedback on the interviews she managed to catch (and with Tivo, that was all of them), constructive letters she intended to kindly critique his ability to manage the press. He _was_ getting better, so either her notes _were_ getting through, or the PR team was working _extra_ hard to make him presentable.

Her notes had also gotten a bit longer. They were more like actual letters, though she was still _extremely careful_ to scrub any and all identifying information. Darcy still mostly stuck to making observations, but she explained them a little more thoroughly. Gone were the two-sentence notes, now there were actual _paragraphs._ It was like Ask Annie in reverse.

She was, at the moment, catching up on the handful of interviews he’d done during her work week. Only three, this time, and she’d already written out notes on two - _Seriously, find some way to fix your hair. How you can consistently look so unkempt when you work with someone like the Black Widow, I will never know._ and _When the interviewer asks to touch your bionic arm and goes for a_ bicep squeeze _they are FLIRTING with you, numbskull, not trying to find a hidden weakness!_ \- and was mentally preparing to queue up the third. It had a rather daunting (ie: trashy) title: _Bucky Barnes’ Significant Other?_. She was already cringing, expecting the interviewer to be some ditzy idiot from a teenybopper magazine, but that wasn’t what she got _at all_.

It faded in mid-question, so it had obviously been cut down as a teaser for a longer interview. There were a few questions about how James got on with the other Avengers: softball questions, she thought they were called. Stupid little things to get him relaxed, so the interviewer could attempt to throw him off with a harder question. She’d seen this kind of thing before, usually reporters tried to steer him towards some sort of confession about his past deeds, occasionally they tried to get him to say something about Steve.

 _This_ interviewer asked him about his soulmate:

”It’s on record that you had no soulmate when you first served, what about now, seventy years later?”

James stared at the woman, wide-eyed in a way that made the answer pretty stinkin’ obvious. The Black Widow, hovering at his left, was giving the interviewer a look that, had it been pointed Darcy’s way, would have sent her screaming for the hills. James glanced over to the redhead, a grimace on his face, but she merely nodded in return. It must have been some sort of prearranged signal, because when he turned _back_ to the interviewer, he was much more composed.

“Yeah,” he said, making Darcy gape at the screen, “I’ve got a soulmate now.”

The interviewer did not seem prepared for that response. “Uh…have you met them?”

“Apparently. I don’t actually remember it.” _Well, that answers THAT question._

“Then how do you _know?_ ”

James was doing his not-smile thing where he was attempting to project good humor, but really looked like he was trying to ignore a bad smell – he’d done it a lot with the reporters from Fox before he’d wised up and _stopped answering their stupid questions_. “I know,” he said, in a tone that said that that subject was very much closed. “They watch all my interviews,” he continued, glancing directly into the camera.

“Oh shit,” Darcy whispered, because suddenly his tendency to seek the spotlight was making _a lot more sense_.

“Well,” the interviewer said, obviously off-track, “is there anything you’d like to say to them?”

James stared directly at the camera with his scary sniper-level focus. Darcy knew he couldn’t _actually see her_ , but that stare was clearly meant to be directed _at_ her. Even through the screen she felt positively _pinned_ by that gaze.

He cocked his head to one side, considering, then offered the camera a very small smile and said five words that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck, and had her slamming her laptop shut and heading for her stash of rotgut vodka.

“I’ll see you soon, кукла.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't get over how there is _no clear consensus_ regarding what is your collective favorite amongst all the storylines I've got going in this 'verse. I mean, I can sort of gauge the standalones, and I _do_ pay attention to your reviews (although I have a hard time keeping track of all the suggestions, sometimes, even the ones I intend to follow up on at some point), but it doesn't actually seem like there's a single preferred pairing at this point. There was at the beginning, but now it seems like y'all are on board with my tentative: SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS AT LEAST ONCE plan.
> 
> Which is _awesome!_ *cackles maniacally*
> 
> *EDIT: I'm sorry! This note was NOT me trying to prompt an outpouring of 'THIS is my fave,' this was (apparently a poorly-worded) way for me to say that, "I appreciate your enthusiasm and that several of you have stated that I've given you new OTPs and/or you're considering more pairings. I am a VERY happy dragon-writer with a treasured hoard of feedback."
> 
> **EDIT TWO: So, this story got longer, and all subsequent chapters will be posted here (http://archiveofourown.org/works/2015277). Enjoy the continuing adventures of Nurse Lewis and her spysassin soulmate!


	17. honey (this is no trap)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs awkwardly* So, um…I got bored.
> 
> Also, I'm not actually sure how old this character is supposed to be (and the MCU timeline for character's ages _does not_ always make any sense, re: Natasha), so I'm putting him in the mid-to-late thirties range. If anybody wants to go through the exhaustively long MCU timeline to figure out what decade he's supposed to have been born in, I will adjust accordingly (assuming it's not a clusterfuck, re: _Natasha_ ).

Darcy watched, wide-eyed, as various thugs in big black boots bundled Jane’s research into waiting vans. This…was not what she had expected from her boring science internship. Crazy dudes appearing in the desert, actually having to _use_ her tazer in _Puente Antiguo_ of all places, and now what looked like an intervention from an alphabet agency?

She had a sinking feeling that they were all going to end up on a watchlist on some government database and there went _her_ chance to use her degree the way she’d intended. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity- _fuck_.

She, like Erik, stood back and let the dudes do their thing, whereas Jane was fluttering around objecting and wringing her hands, muttering about her civil liberties. At that last, Erik sent Darcy a questioning look, maybe hoping she might know how to bring up a pertinent objection to what was going on. Darcy shook her head at him and mouthed, ‘Patriot Act,’ because haha, _no_ , drawing more specific attention from the dudes in boots and their suit-wearing superiors was exactly the _last_ thing any of them needed at the mo.

Darcy watched, resigned, as the dudes – all obviously ex-or-current military – who were now finished with the largest of Jane’s machines, whiteboards, and boxes of notes, moved towards Darcy’s own meager workspace. Suddenly, she regretted her decision to do most of her writing on their shared computer, even if it _had_ been awfully convenient to use her laptop to show her research while she wrote on the other screen. They packed up the desktop she used to collate Jane’s data, her pile of binders, even her freaking _iPod_ and, with a sinking feeling, Darcy wondered if ‘project lost due to government intervention’ would be enough of an excuse to get her committee to give her extra time on her thesis.

It wouldn’t even be a lie, damnit.

There was an itchy, tight feeling in her throat and the backs of her eyes were starting to feel prickly with the press of impending tears. At least she still had all her research saved, and _thank god_ her laptop was back in her trailer, maybe they’d ignore it. They had already patted her down and taken her flash drives…this sucked beyond the telling of it, but it wasn’t like there was anything she could _do_ to salvage her work.

Or…well, it couldn’t hurt to _try_.

She made her way over to her workspace, ignoring the guys doing the actual packing and heading for the dude who was _watching_ them pack. He was wearing slightly more distinct black gear (which she assumed meant he was an officer or leader of some sort) but not a suit, so probably not an agent of the alphabet.

Darcy cleared her throat and waited till he glanced at her. “Is there any chance of me being able to copy some non-science files from that computer before it gets bundled off to Area 51?” she offered him her finest, ‘No really, I’m harmless’ smile, but considering she was holding back tears, she was pretty sure it was weak at best.

He turned to face her fully, brown eyes focusing on her _far_ more intently than she’d expected. He folded his arms across his chest (both were the sort of impressive that would usually have her undying appreciation, but her _thesis_ was on the line, here) and gave her a _very_ thorough visual inspection, which, what the hell, rando government guy, _not the time_.

She knew she was scowling at him by the time his (stupidly pretty) brown eyes managed to make their _leisurely_ way back up to her face - which wasn’t really conducive to getting him to do her a favor - but, regardless of how much she wanted to preserve her research, she didn’t want it badly enough to exchange _that_ kind of favor!

His lips twitched at the corners, as if he knew what she was thinking and found it funny, the asshole: “Your chances are slim to none, sorry.”

Darcy blinked rapidly, assimilating _that_ brand new and _shocking_ data. “You’re kidding,” she said flatly.

He raised an eyebrow, “No.” _I don’t ‘kid,’_ very heavily implied.

She blew out a breath and shoved a hand through her hair, trying to adjust to this rapid shift from ‘I might lose my research’ to ‘I _definitely_ just met my soulmate.’ “You know,” she said after a few seconds, “I always figured my soulmate must be a cocky asshole if their first words to me were to blow me off completely.” Darcy narrowed her eyes at him, “I guess I had the right idea, wrong context.”

He looked distinctly unimpressed. “Area 51? Do you have any idea how often I got shit for that in basic?”

She rolled her eyes and made a sweeping gesture towards his muscular physique. “Yeah, so sorry, you were _clearly_ the sort who got picked last for dodgeball. My heart bleeds for you, really, how _did_ you survive?” She sighed, “Look, I really _do_ need just a couple of files, and they really _aren’t_ anything to do with,” she flapped a hand, “whatever the hell is going on with _this_.”

“And what _is_ going on with _this?_ ” he asked, focus sharpening.

“I…don’t really know, to be honest.” _Half truth, but whatever._

“Then how do you know what’s on that computer is unrelated?”

Darcy smiled wryly, “I really, _really_ doubt you guys are here for my unfinished senior thesis on the impact of police and military actions on college campuses and resulting young adult voting patterns.”

“Sounds like pretty interesting reading.”

She squinted at him, “I can’t tell if you’re being serious, or being an asshole.”

He smiled at her, teeth very white against his tanned skin. “I can be a serious asshole.”

“Aaaaaaand he jokes, people, we got a funny one on our hands,” she muttered.

The muted sounds of orders being given spiked abruptly, and he glanced at something behind her, giving whatever it was a short nod. “Look,” he said, glancing back to her, “I can’t say anything one way or the other about your stuff, that’s not up to me – “

“Above your paygrade?” she couldn’t help but snark.

His lips twisted wryly, “Something like that. You have any interest in exchanging emails?”

“That depends, will _we_ be the only ones reading those emails?”

He sighed, exasperated, “For a political science major, you seem pretty suspicious.”

“And what agency _do_ you represent, exactly?”

“And if I said I was just following orders…?” he asked, those stupidly pretty eyes lighting up with mischief.

Darcy gave him a speaking look over the rim of her glasses. “Ha. Ha. _Ha._ ”

“So, email? We’re kind of on a time limit, here, Ms. Lewis. I’ve got places to be, a thesis to read.”

“You’re hilarious, really. You probably already _have_ my preferred email address, shadowy-government-agency-man, so sure, shoot me a message…poor choice of words.” Her soulmate was a secret agent and she’d just lost her thesis, was this was a good-bad day or a bad-good day? “Hey,” she said, grabbing his arm (yes, just as fantastic as it looked) as he started to move past her, “what’s your name? Not really fair, you already knowing all about _me_.”

“Brock Rumlow, and I don’t know _everything_ about you,” he said, smiling and giving her _yet another_ elevator look.

She ignored it, feeling _very_ glad she was wearing long sleeves that disguised the way her skin had gone all goose-pimply under his scrutiny. “Darcy Lewis, but you already knew that.” She mustered up a genuine smile, since, technically, it wasn’t _actually_ his fault that they were meeting on the worst day of her academic life, “Well, it was, um, _interesting_ meeting you – “

“You’ll hear from me soon,” he told her, lifting her hand from his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Darcy watched him go, and wondered if she should take that as a promise or a threat.

Well, he was government. Probably both.

When they got back all of the research, post-Thor, Darcy found that her thesis had been critiqued: little comments and asides had been inserted, along with suggestions for further reading. At the very bottom of her half-finished citation page, an email address had been written in – font sized 48, so it wasn’t like she could miss it – _crossbones@shield.pas_.

Darcy opened a new email and put ‘To the Helpful Asshole’ in the header.


	18. good morning (it's great to stay up late!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the thing again. To my hand, I mean. Fuck.
> 
> Also, THE TITLE DESCRIBES MY DEEP REGRET THAT I AM AWAKE AT 2AM AND POSTING THIS.
> 
> Also also, I will take a prompt request (please be patient while I fill it) from the first person who guesses the origin of the movie quote I use here. It is a _fabulous_ film that _everyone_ should watch, not least because it has young, adorable RDJ in it. *hinthint*

On a scale of 1-10, Darcy would have put the likelihood of waking up to find an Avenger crashing on her couch at _negative 9,001_. She was currently standing a healthy (respectful) distance from said couch, clutching a mug of coffee and trying to figure out what the hell to do. Miss Manners had never covered shit like this.

To make it worse, and more awkward, it was the only member of the Avengers she hadn’t officially met yet. Bruce and Tony were known quantities, on account of all the sciencing, and she’d been buddies with Thor for _years_ at this point (which was really weird to think about, so she didn’t). She’d met Captain America, the Black Widow, and the dude who objected loudly (though not very successfully) when he was called ‘The Falcon’ when they brought the Winter Soldier in for deprogramming.

She knew _of_ Clint Barton, aka ‘Hawkeye’ (call sign chosen because he was a marksman and SHIELD was full of _deeply imaginative_ people), but this was her first time seeing the guy in person. He’d been on some long-term assignment involving deep cover and Hydra and that was as much as she knew, and wanted to know, about the spy shenanigans that were somehow now a part of her daily life.

She took a sip of her coffee and tried to figure out what the fuck he was doing _in her apartment._

Besides sleeping, of course, and _man_ , was he _out_. He hadn’t even twitched when her coffee maker had gone off, and that sucker was _loud_. To be fair, he smelled pretty pungently of liquor, specifically the _frighteningly potent_ vodka that the Black Widow and Winter Soldier preferred – she knew vodka wasn’t supposed to really have a smell, but this did, _that was how strong it was_ \- which was probably strong enough to knock out the Hulk.

Not that anyone would ever be stupid enough to offer the Hulk alcohol, but she digressed.

Hawkeye was a surprisingly self-contained sleeper. Tall enough that he stretched along the full length of her couch, he was sleeping on his side with his arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other. He wasn’t a snorer, she noted with relief, but there was something about his resting pose that screamed I-can-go-zero-to-sixty-and-snapping-your-neck-before-you-can-scream, or maybe that was just her paranoia talking. _Justified_ paranoia, she thought, since she’d woken up with a _world-renowned assassin_ sacked out on her couch.

Wait it out, or wake him? Decisions, decisions.

Darcy sat down in the chair opposite her very occupied couch and put her feet up on the coffee table that sat between the couch and her nice squishy armchair. She was careful about _not_ trying to be quiet because, in her experience, there was no faster way to draw someone’s attention than _actively trying_ to avoid detection.

She drank her coffee in blissful quiet and studied the Avenger sacked out on her couch. Hawkeye was older than her, probably in his late thirties, maybe early forties, but he didn’t really look it. He had a boxer’s face with a nose that had obviously been broken before, tanned skin, and light brown hair. The man had _fantastic arms_ , she couldn’t help but notice, probably on account of his bow specialization. Nice, broad shoulders, too, and really pretty blue-green eyes – oh, hey.

Darcy gave him her very best, most polite smile.

He seemed confused, but not aggressively so, “What are you doing here?”

She’d been asked that question too many times over her life to get excited, still, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to quote one of her favorite films… She raised her eyebrows at him, widening her eyes in exaggerated innocence, “This is my home, I _live_ here. What are _you_ doing here?”

Hawkeye did not appear to have fully woken up yet. He scrubbed the heel of one hand into his eyes and slowly sat up. “I think I might be hallucinating, or still dreaming,” he muttered. He had a rough, gravelly voice, but it was hard to tell how much of that was _him_ and how much was the result of a night of drinking. He looked around at her, admittedly meager, decorations and frowned, “This isn’t Nat’s place.”

“No,” Darcy said deliberately, “as previously established, this is _my_ apartment. The Black Widow lives upstairs.”

He was starting to look more alert, finally. “But if I’m _not_ dreaming...” he gave her a speculative look, then shook his head. “I must have gotten off on the wrong floor…your apartments are set up _really_ similarly. I guess I didn’t notice in the dark. I shoulda smelled the difference, though.”

“Blame the similarity on Stark and…I’m not sure whether I ought to be offended by that or not.”

“Not,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile, “no gun or leather smell. That’s all.”

Well, that made sense. “So how’d you end up drunk enough to break into the wrong apartment?”

He grimaced, “Reunion tradition. One I regret starting. Um…I’m really sorry about this, but, who are you again?”

“Darcy Lewis, Dr. Foster’s lab lacky, and don’t worry,” she paused to finish her coffee, “this is the first time we’ve met.” He was fully alert, now, and _yowza_ did he have intense eyes, made sense since he was a sniper. Still, it was more than a little disconcerting to have all that sniperly focus trained on _her_.

“Remind me,” he said slowly, “what did you say when I woke up?”

“You mean the, _this is my home, I live here, what are you doing here_ thing? It’s a quote from one of my favorite movies.”

“It’s also my soulmark.”

Darcy’s coffee cup slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a heavy _thunk_.

“I’m guessing, based on your reaction, that – “

“My soulmark says _What are you doing here?_ ” She gulped, “Yeah, good guess.” Her eyes narrowed as it occurred to her that he’d said something a little odd earlier, “Why did you think you were hallucinating, or still dreaming, when you first woke up?”

Hawkeye honest-to-god _blushed_ , it was very subtle, but the flush of pink at his cheekbones and along the top of his ears was _totally there._ “You’re very, ah – I mean, I’ve had a few dreams where…” He scrubbed a hand over his face and very studiously avoided her gaze.

“Seriously?” she couldn’t help but ask, unconvinced. She hadn’t exactly changed into her _good_ pajamas once she realized she had company. She was still wearing an old Happy Bunny tank top, one of her nighttime sports-bras, and some pretty ratty flannel shorts. Her face was utterly devoid of make-up and her hair was probably a _mess_ –

“Seriously,” he said, and was it just her or had his voice gotten even _more_ gravelly?

She made the mistake of meeting his eyes and, yeah, okay, what she had _thought_ was the scary-sniper-focus was apparently just the tip of the iceberg. His eyes were very blue, very intent on her, and it was definitely _too early in the day for this._

After a few tension-filled seconds, he cleared his throat and looked away, _thank god_ , which allowed her a moment to gather herself. The room was not cold, she kept her apartment a balmy 70 degrees, but you would have thought she’d spent a minute in the arctic from the way her body was reacting. Even with the extra padding provided by her sports-bra, it was pretty clear that certain parts of her had… _perked up_ from his attention.

“So,” she cleared her throat, “you, ah, want some coffee?”

“Love some.”

“Great!” she chirped brightly and made a strategic retreat into the kitchen with her coffee cup. She had a four-cup brewer so it was the work of a moment to get another mug down and fill them both. “How do you take it?” she called.

“Strong and black,” was the answer, coming from _right behind her_.

She turned to find Hawkeye, and she should really start thinking about him as Clint, all things considered, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “Oh, well,” she took a step towards him and offered him the coffee. “Here you go,” she said, keeping far enough away that she had her arm extending almost to its fullest reach to pass it to him.

He noticed and, judging by his slight smirk, had likely deduced _why_. He sipped it, all the while watching her over the rim of the cup. “It’s good,” he told her, smiling, “not that I’d expect anything less from someone who spends the majority of their time in science labs.”

“Assumptions like that could _kill_ you if you’re ever stupid enough to drink the coffee in Stark’s lab,” she babbled, turning to putter with… _something_ so she wouldn’t have to _watch him watching her_. His gaze was so intense she could almost _feel_ it trailing down her back. He wasn’t even really _doing_ anything, they hadn’t even touched! She was just so _aware_ of him and his presence.

Her mother would have said ‘small guy, huge _personality_ ’ and then snickered.

“So,” she said, reorganizing her spice rack so it was ordered by freshness instead of alphabetically, “did you have any plans for today? More post-mission rituals you need to get to?” Two large, calloused hands entered her line of sight, one on either side of her, and very carefully took the spices from her hands then settled on her shoulders and smoothly turned her to face their owner.

“I think,” he said, “that I’d like to kiss you.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss that…lingered, for lack of a better word. It was warm and sweet, and it made something in Darcy settle. “Then,” he broke the kiss to say, “I’d like to get breakfast with you. Thoughts?”

“I like that plan,” she whispered, eyes still closed from his kiss. He was smiling down at her when she opened them and murmured, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said back.

And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on that OTHER tumblr post about somebody waking up to find a person had drunkenly (mistakenly) broken in and crashed on their couch. This felt like a very 'Clint' thing to do, IMHO, and also I felt a little bad because so many of you assumed it was Barton in the previous chapter (nobody expects the surprise!Rumlow).
> 
> Also, kind of amused again because you seem split on villain-shipping. Admittedly, there are some villains that I will probably skip (Red Skull, Aldrich Killian, Obadiah Stane, etc.) but for the most part I am _sticking_ to SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, although, as I told one reviewer, it has sort of slipped sideways into SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE MARVEL (MOVIE) CHARACTERS (ie: LETS INCLUDE ALL THE FILMS BASED ON MARVEL PROPERTIES!).
> 
> I think I will call this DARCY DOES MARVEL. It's like DEBBIE DOES DALLAS, but less porny.


	19. service with a smile (biting my tongue)

Darcy had grown up with _Black coffee?_ high on the inside of her right thigh in a slanted hand and _Does it look like I give a shit?_ in block letters opposite it on her left. She felt that this explained a lot about her personality, worldview, and general demeanor.

She was a waitress in high school and college, served a lot of black coffee and met a lot of people who really _didn’t_ look like they gave any shits, right up until the internship that changed her life.

The Man gave her a choice: continue with Dr. Foster and be funded, but basically disappeared, or get cut loose with funding for a graduate degree in the discipline of her choice, with the caveat that SHIELD would have the opportunity to attempt to match salary with any of her post-grad offers – either way, she would have to sign an assload of NDAs.

She took door number two, but missed the fine print about tuition being the _only_ thing SHIELD was covering, which led to her current position: standing behind the counter at a Starbucks during prime research time (7:15PM, thank you) on a Sunday evening. Fucking SHIELD. She was barely two years into her combined Masters/PhD and she was already feeling a little crazy trying to juggle a 30 hour work week _and_ school. It was work or sell her soul to the loan companies, though, so she slaved for her wage.

Her banked rage and general frustration made her the perfect picture of the New York barista. All she was missing was a lip ring and some heavy black make-up and she’d be the love interest in one of those awful indie flicks about finding yourself (and, not coincidentally, your soulmate) and growing up.

Darcy’s quiet seething was interrupted by the advent of the nighttime rush, a blur of overworked suit-types, exhausted college kids, and the occasional tourist who hadn’t yet figured out that New York was chock _full_ of better, _cheaper_ coffee options. Amateurs.

She mustered up a smile for the next guy in line, a tall, broad-shouldered hunka man with big blue eyes and a shy smile, but she couldn’t quite get the enthusiasm necessary to actually welcome him, or worse, wish him a _’nice day.’_ She lifted her eyebrows in silent inquiry, one hand poised above the cups while she waited for Blue Eyes to get with the program.

“Black coffee?” he asked hopefully, staring at her intently.

 _Yes, we have that,_ Darcy thought, _this is a fucking Starbucks, of COURSE we have that._ “Tall, grande, or venti?” she asked, barely restraining herself from making a ‘well, go on with it’ gesture with her free hand.

“Uh,” Blue Eyes seemed flummoxed, shifting slightly to one side to reveal the patron behind him, a slightly shorter but equally broad guy, _also_ with blue eyes, who wore the meanest scowl Darcy had seen since her last bathroom break. “We’ll make it two, actually, and I’ll have the…tall?”

Darcy turned her attention to Scowly and did the same eyebrow raise.

“Does it look like I give a shit?” he growled.

“You gonna give me a name to go with that order, or should I just write ‘Scowly?’” she muttered, grabbing their cups and the marker.

“Excuse me?” Blue Eyes said, suddenly dropping the shy thing and getting _serious_.

Shit, were these guys plants? “Look, sorry, I just need your names, okay?”

“Steve,” said Blue Eyes, still staring at her.

“Bucky,” said Scowly, although he wasn’t scowling anymore, in fact, he was staring at her with just the same level of intensity as his friend. “Miss,” he glanced down at her nametag, prominently displayed by the fit of her uniform shirt over her generous endowments, “Darcy, right? Genius over here,” he hooked a thumb in Steve’s direction, looking at her meaningfully, “has a Starbucks-themed soulmark and mine makes mention of my _sunny_ disposition.”

“Sorry…? What does that have to – “

The other shoe dropped with a clatter. Darcy looked from one set of blue eyes to another and –

“SHEILA, I’M TAKING MY FIFTEEN.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the idea of Steve waking up with "Tall, grande, or venti?" on his skin (Stark laughed so hard he almost threw up), and then dragging Bucky to every Starbucks in Manhattan _multiple times_ in order to catch _every barista_ made me cackle.
> 
> *EDIT: THANK YOU HOLLY!


	20. what happens in Vegas (waking up in New York)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACCIDENTALLY A D/P/T.
> 
> It almost developed a real plot about halfway through, but I killed it. TOO MANY, TOO MANY ALREADY.
> 
>  
> 
> The inspiration for Darcy's uniform can be found here: (http://www.vegas-online.de/images1/cocktail_waitress_roseann2.jpg).

When Darcy’s father had told her that her Uncle Jimmy could get her a job in Vegas, her reaction had been… _dubious_. Uncle Jimmy was a fun guy, a charming guy, but if even half the tales of his exploits were true, he was not always a _good_ guy. Still, she needed the money to fund her super-senior year at Culver (long story), so off she went to Vegas, trying not to let _Showgirls_ influence her fears too much.

The job was _not_ what she’d expected, and yet, at the same time, _exactly_ what she’d thought it would be. Uncle Jimmy got her an interview for a job waiting tables on the main floor, which, when they saw her figure (rack) turned into an interview for a job waiting _higher class_ tables in the VIP lounge.

Darcy bought herself a bright red bra with extra shoulder support as a thank-you to the girls. They’d earned it.

Her basic ‘uniform’ was comprised of a pair of black leather hotpants, tights, black stripper heels, a long-sleeved black mesh shirt, and a set of interchangeable vests made of such a small amount of material that they barely deserved the name. The idea behind the vest, she quickly realized, was not to _hide_ the bra, but to _highlight_ it. She went out and bought several more bras, all in basic black, but with varying amounts of lace because why the fuck not? They let her wear her glasses with the chunky black frames, and they didn’t give a shit what she did with her hair so long as it didn’t get in the food or drinks, so she got in the habit of braiding the front section back and leaving it down. Her hair was long enough to provide more coverage than the stinkin’ vest did.

Not a stripper job, but still a stripperific costume. Thanks, Uncle Jimmy.

The wages were meh, but the _tips?_ The tips were fucking _phenomenal_.

Thanks, Uncle Jimmy!

She was covering some sort of party, she didn’t know what for and she didn’t really care. The vests they’d been given to wear were a shiny gold with what looked like molecule designs all over them in black beading. Some sort of science convention, then, which would probably mean a lot of nerdy guys (not the best tippers, but champion oglers) and business types ( _fantastic_ tippers, but with a possibility that they might want something in return, which, ha ha, _no_ ).

Darcy touched up her bright red lipstick and hit the floor with a smile on her face: showtime.

…

Two hours in and she was up $150 bucks, not bad.

“Hey, Darcy?” another girl, Shelby by her nametag, called. “Can you cover for me for a minute, I gotta take a whiz.”

In the get-up _they_ had to wear, that was serious business. “I’ve got you now if you cover me later.”

“Deal,” Shelby said, smiling gratefully. “I’m in section eight, be back in five!”

Darcy glanced over at her own section for a moment, noting that table five seemed to be hitting their cut-off point, before heading over to Shelby’s section for a run-through. The tables near the back were fine, but Shelby must have been in the middle of a tour because from the middle onwards they were edging towards dry. Cardinal rule of serving alcohol in Vegas? Never let a high roller’s glass go empty.

She swanned up to the first few tables, getting orders quickly and efficiently, but the _next_ table…she’d barely gotten within five feet of it before one of the guys was throwing up a ruckus.

“…get her to do the tie-breaker again, where’s Shelby?”

She walked up to the table smiling her brightest smile, opened her mouth to greet them, and was promptly interrupted:

“No, not you, we don’t want _you_ ,” a dude wearing douche shades and some of the most well ‘scaped facial hair she’d ever seen said dismissively. “Where’s the other girl?”

Darcy opened her mouth with a platitude, then she thought of the scribbly writing that graced her right shoulder blade, the writing that was such a pain in the ass to cover with foundation _every day_ before her shift. It fucking figured.

This asshole was one of her soulmates. Great.

She dropped the hand holding her notepad to her hip and glared down her nose at Douche Shades. There were a thousand different ways she _could_ respond to that _fantastic_ opener, but she asked what she really wanted to know, “Are you always this rude, or is this some sort of special occasion?”

The guy to Douche Shades’ right promptly spit his drink _all over_ the other two people at the table (sadly, Douche Shades had good reflexes and ducked), who squawked and shrieked and darted for the restroom to save their clothes. Douche Shades was absently handing his friend a stack of napkins while staring at her through the tinted lenses of his shades…and now that she was looking at him a little more closely, she could identify him as Tony Stark.

What the _fuck?_ Then that would make his friend – she glanced over – yeah, that was Iron Patriot. Douche Shades was Tony Stark, her soulmate was Douche Shades, ergo, Tony Stark was her soulmate. She knew the logic was right, but she was pretty sure the universe must be wrong.

“So,” Stark said after a moment, “you’re my – “

“Yup.”

“And you’re, what, twenty?”

“Twenty-one.” The Patriot – Colonel something? - started choking again at that.

“Huh,” Stark said, leaning back a little in his seat and giving her a once-over. “You don’t look it.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Guys seem to add a coupla years per cup size when they guess a girl’s age.” Darcy sighed, “Okay, so, Shelby will be back in a minute to break your little…whatever. You guys need anything before I go back to my section?”

“Name, phone number, SSN? Measurements?” Stark rattled off.

“Darcy, not sure I want you to know, ha-freaking-ha, and go fuck yourself.” She turned to the other guy, “You?”

“I’m good,” he said, voice rough and eyes still teary from choking.

“Okay then,” she gave them both nods, a brief flash of her professional smile, and turned to go. She heard a very muffled argument start up as soon as she stepped away but she really didn’t care at the moment. She had work to do, and she figured that Stark could probably - _definitely_ track her down if he _really_ wanted to, and, well, she knew where to find _him_.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait _wait_ ,” she heard coming from behind her. She turned to see Stark a few feet away, shades gone (thank god) and giving her what he must’ve thought was a charming grin (it came off more kid-about-to-con-you-out-of-your-lunch-money). “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, Darcy.”

“You mean your foot in your mouth?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Alright,” Darcy turned to face him, “lets start again: hi, I’m Darcy. I already know who you are, so we can skip that part of the introduction. Now comes the part where we talk about hobbies, interests, or, _gee_ , what we currently do for a living. You build the future and sometimes kick ass in a shiny gold robot suit, I waitress. Something I am supposed to be doing _right now._ So lets table anything else until I’m off shift, mkay?”

He stared at her, nonplussed, “That was oddly sexy. When do you get off shift?”

“Four hours,” she told him, ignoring the ‘sexy’ comment and any impulse to check out the figure he cut in his suit.

“Four hours, I can do four hours,” Stark muttered, then, without another word, turned and headed back to his table.

Darcy figured she’d see him at the end of her night and they’d exchange contact information. It would give her some distance and time to come to the terms with the idea that her soulmate was 1) a little over fifteen years her senior, 2) a freaking _billionaire_ , and 3) a goddamn _superhero_. Also, kind of a jerk, but she’d known and been preparing for that for most of her life.

She just hoped _Yes, always._ would be someone a little less… _everything_.

She wove through Shelby’s section quickly, and then traded off with the other girl to go see to her section. Hopefully the rest of her night would be peaches and cream compared to the last few minutes.

…

Sadly, her plans for her night had not taken into account Stark’s… _Starkness._

He had had more to drink (a _lot_ more) and was quite clearly schwasted. He had _also_ taken to waiting at the bar for her when she put her orders in. She’d had to signal an ‘all-clear’ to the bar staff, her fellow wait staff, and a couple of the guards because a drunk Tony Stark? Did not lose _any_ of his vim or vigor, no, what he lost was volume control, balance, and any concept of _normal people logic_.

“No, Tony,” Darcy said as she walked back to the bar, cutting him off before he could even get a word out. At some point he’d become ‘Tony’ and not ‘Stark’ and she hadn’t even noticed, she was pretty sure it’d happened somewhere around the third time he offered to hire her so she could quit. Or it might’ve been when he tried to buy her a plane. It had been a strange night.

“You don’t even know what I was about to _say,_ ” he said, basically pouting.

She looked past him to his friend – “Call me, ‘Rhodey.’ - who was watching their interactions like they were the finest entertainment he’d seen in years. Darcy sighed deeply and turned back to Tony, “Were you about to offer to buy me something, build me something, or in some _other_ way offer me monetary or physical goods or services?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “No,” he finally said, expression sullen.

“I have a half hour left on my shift, Tony. Think you can handle that?”

“And then you’ll come to New York with me?” he asked hopefully.

“ _No,_ Tony, then I’ll give you my phone number.” She paused and turned to Rhodey, “Wait, you did confiscate his phone, right? He hasn’t managed to, like, buy the casino while my back was turned, has he?”

Rhodey chuckled and held up what looked like a small sheet of glass, barely the size of a standard iPhone. “Nah, slipped it out of his pocket after his second pitcher, he always forgets – “ Tony’s reflexes? Not as inebriated as the rest of him. He had the phone and darted out of reach before Rhodey could snatch it back.

“Tony,” Darcy said, unconsciously slipping into her babysitting voice, “who are you calling?”

“Pep,” he answered, grinning, “I forgot to call Pep!”

Well, that had to be Pepper Potts, but she had no idea why Tony had to call her just then. Darcy turned to Rhodey with a questioning look in her eyes, but he had settled back into his seat at the bar and was smiling. “It’s fine,” he told her when he caught her look, “best person he _could_ call right now…actually – “

“Pep! Pepper! No, no, I know it’s late, I know, but you’ll never guess! I found – yes, I know you work hard, but I – no, I remembered the time shift, I just – Pep! _Pepper!_ This is _important!_ ” He paused, frowning and obviously listening to whoever was on the other end, opening his mouth to object every so often, but then stopping and rolling his eyes, back to smiling at Darcy and now ignoring everything Pepper Potts had to say. “Here, think fast,” he said after another minute of lecturing, and tossed the phone to her.

“What the fuck are you – shit.” Darcy lifted the phone to her ear while glaring at Tony, “Is he always like this?”

There was a soft gasp over the line, and then, “Yes, always.”

Darcy froze. “Um, so you’re – “

“Uh-huh.”

“And he’s our – “

“Yes.”

Darcy took a deep breath, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go disembowel a man.” She passed the phone to Rhodey, who needed to stop grinning like that or he was going to be _next_ on her shitlist, and continued to Tony, who was looking _far_ too pleased with himself.

“So,” he said, smiling eagerly, “ _now_ will you come to New York with me?”

She opened her mouth to object again, but, well, choosing one’s battles and all that. “Yes, Tony.”

“…will you come work at SI?”

“We’ll discuss my career plans with Pepper,” she hedged.

“…will you let me pay – “

“ _No, Tony._ ”


	21. service with a smile (biting my tongue), part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically speaking, this is a PREQUEL to that other ficlet, but whatever.

Bucky looked up at the menu and grimaced, “Is this coffee or candy?”

Steve, beside him, shrugged. “I think it’s sort of both?”

“…this is bullshit.”

“With soulmarks like ours, how _else_ are we supposed to find them?”

Bucky grumbled quietly under his breath, but nodded. “Get me a black coffee.”

“Aw, c’mon, Buck – where’s your sense of adventure?”

He knew he shouldn’t let himself be goaded, he _knew_ this was a bad idea, but all the same, he glared at his best friend in the whole world (and world’s biggest punk) and said three little words that had gotten them into _heaps_ of trouble as kids: “What’s the bet?”

“Try everything on the menu at least once, first to forfeit gets to…”

“Choose what we do _next_ weekend?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Fine, yeah.”

“You’re on.”

Sixteen overly sugary beverages and two hours later, Bucky was regretting _everything_ and Steve didn’t look all that much better. “Ready to give up?” the blonde asked, looking the worse for wear – he might have a supersoldier metabolism, but that didn’t entirely make up for such a massive upheaval in his usual diet.

Bucky opened his mouth to tell him where to stick his suggestion and then quickly snapped it shut on a wave of nausea. “Ugh,” he squinted at the other man. “You’re just gonna harp on me until we do this next week, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

“And we’re gonna _keep_ doing this till we find ‘em?”

“That’s the plan.”

Bucky sighed, “I’ll keep going today if we can just stick to coffee, _normal_ coffee.”

Steve brightened immediately, then smirked like the jerk he was. “I dunno,” he said, “that caramel thing wasn’t half bad…”

“Stick a cork in it, or I’m headin’ back.”

“Corked!”


	22. iPod shuffle (serious as cancer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. “Ashes to the Wind/Roux Returns” from _Chocolat_ , Phil/Darcy  
> 2\. “Warg-scouts” from _The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey_ , Maria/Darcy  
> 3\. “Goodbye” by Aaron Tveit, from _Catch Me If You Can_ , Steve/Darcy  
> 4\. “Main Titles” from _Beetlejuice_ , Darcy/Wanda  
> 5\. “When It’s Over” by Sugar Ray, Darcy/Bruce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know those iPod shuffle challenges? I did a modified one, _with soulmates._ I had a day off from the kidlets (yay for local festivals!), so I used the time to get some ficlets out so I could clear some mental cobwebs. So, here! Have five ficlets inspired by songs (feel free to listen to, or ignore completely, the inspirational material), the other five should be out relatively soon. *fingers crossed*
> 
> Disclaimer: these songs both do, and do not accurately represent my music tastes. I don't know how the hell shuffle managed to throw two rap songs into this, I hadn't even _heard_ one of them before the challenge!

**1\. “Ashes to the Wind/Roux Returns” Chocolat, pre-MCU (mostly)**

She’d started playing at five, precocious little shit that she was. Most of her early memories were of music: not playing it, just hearing it – sometimes from players, sometimes just from her own head. She didn’t actually _remember_ what had prompted her decision to tackle the _cello_ as a _five year old_ , but her mother loved to tell the story, so she sometimes half-thought she did.

The story went like this: her ma had gone through a _pretty serious_ Yo-Yo Ma phase, and, apparently, after about fifty go-rounds of one of his CDs, teeny-tiny her had looked up at her mother and, in all seriousness said, “I can do _that_ , it’s not that special.”

Her mother’s knee-jerk reaction had been to say, “Prove it.” (They were a lot alike, her and her ma.)

So, Darcy did. It took a few years, but nobody ever accused her of being weak-willed. Here she was, at sixteen, a little too old for her success for people to freak out and call her a prodigy, but good enough that she already had early acceptance to Juilliard. She would have been going to one of those music-kid schools if it weren’t for the fact that, ha ha, _no_ , she wanted an actual life and to _avoid_ burning out her lifelong passion, thanks.

She did concerts with the local symphony, sometimes. They’d started asking her to ‘guest’ play a few times a season just after her twelfth birthday, which, _cool_. Darcy was just finishing one of those guest appearances, dressed in the long, loose-legged black trousers she preferred for these sorts of things, and a royal blue sweater. She did her thing, did the bow thing, and headed offstage. Her mother would come grab her for home in a little under fifteen minutes, but usually expected her to _spend_ that time ‘being nice’ to the community.

Since ‘being nice’ usually involved standing around and letting old people compliment her, Darcy didn’t really have a problem with it, but she liked to object for form’s sake (re: the _little shit_ thing).

Darcy carefully put Stuart away in his case and then headed out towards the hall, slipping through the door and waiting for her bright sweater to attract attention. She didn’t really have to wait very long, though it was a smaller crowd than usual, tonight. She smiled at everyone, accepting compliments on her play with an ease born of long practice. She appreciated every single one, though. Each one was, after all, a chance to meet her soulmate.

 _You play beautifully._ She got that a lot, to be honest, so she always tried to say something more than just “Thanks” in response.

Four _You play beautifullys_ and six _Are you going to continue to plays_ later, and her crowd had dwindled down to just three: two women, obviously together judging by their linked arms and suspiciously matching outfits, and a dude in a _really nice_ gray suit.

The ladies seemed to be involved in a quick conversation of their own, so Darcy turned to the dude.

“You play beautifully,” he told her, offering a small, close-lipped smile.

“Thank you, and I _love_ your suit, by the way – _very_ sharp.”

Suit-dude’s face went blank.

Darcy stared at him.

He stared back.

The two ladies chose that moment to come over and congratulate Darcy on her performance. She answered them on autopilot, not taking her eyes of Suit-dude for more than a second at a time, too scared that he might just up and disappear. Once the ladies headed off, she turned back to him expectantly.

“So…” she started. “Well, that just happened.”

“Yes, it did.” His face was the very _definition_ of inscrutable.

“I’m, like, sixteen years old,” she said frankly.

He winced. “I know.”

“Wanna stick around and meet my mom, or just exchange emails and meet up when I’m eighteen?”

“I have a…somewhat unusual job, I might not be able to - ”

She held up a hand, “Dude, I’m not looking for, like, a daily pen-pal, here. Just semi-regular contact with my soulmate until we can meet up without feeling skeezy. Also, if you have an ‘unusual’ job, some reassurance that you’re not dead, or being held captive by rabid ferrets, or forgotten me through brainwashing would be cool.”

“ _Rabid ferrets?_ ”

“Friend had one, hated that little sucker.”

“Ah. You’re being very…reasonable about all of this,” he said cautiously.

“Well,” she shrugged philosophically, “I always sort of figured you’d be older than me, not that many people my age like classical music. Plus, I’m _sixteen_ , I’m not really looking for some crazy romance right now, I just wanna get through hell school and move on to college. We’ve got time to figure this all out.”

He smiled, and Darcy internally cursed her older-man kink. “Phil,” he said, holding out a hand.

“Darcy, but you knew that.”

He took a slim wallet out of his pocket and passed her a card. “My contact information, please note the importance of the word _emergency_ in front of the phone number.”

“Noted.” She grinned, “Well, its been real, see you when I’m legal?”

He looked deeply pained, “Must you phrase it that way?”

“I really must.”

Phil sighed, but the twinkle in his eye told her he found her amusing, even if reluctantly.

“Oh, wait, before you go?”

“Yes?”

Darcy eyed him curiously, “Do you have a second soulmate, too?”

**2\. “Warg-scouts” The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, post-Thor/Avengers concurrent**

She knew there was something fishy about a junior junior _junior_ analyst getting promoted to a shift on the helicarrier. Hell, there was something fishy about the fact that she _knew_ about the helicarrier. Did that mean she was going to object? Hell _no_. Heli _carrier!_

Still, Darcy couldn’t help but fidget when her new temporary supervisor led her to what was definitely looking like the mothafreakin’ _bridge_. Judging by all the windows, the important-looking computer banks, etc…yeah, this was where the shit went down. Why was she here again?

“Here,” her new sort-of boss indicated a seat, “this will be your duty station for the duration. Henderson will get you up to speed.” With that _super helpful_ explanation of her duties, he turned and left.

Darcy sat and looked to her right, where a generically handsome looking dude was giving her a friendly smile. “Henderson, right?”

“Pleased to meet you…?”

“Darcy, Darcy Lewis. So…what’s the sitch?”

His eyes lit up, so she was thinking that A) he’d caught her veiled reference and possibly B) she had the makings of a buddy, here - _awesome_ , and he ran over the log-in procedures and basic duties of the bridge crew. Darcy was…surprised. Yeah, there were some things that were obviously necessary and required human judgment, but for the most part it seemed like the helicarrier pretty much ran itself.

“So, why are we here?” she asked at the end of the explanation.

Henderson shrugged, “Two theories: in case something goes _wrong_ , or because we’re important.” He pointed to two people manning computers towards the front, “One’s a senator’s kid, the other’s an ex-President’s granddaughter. A bunch of us with permanent details on the helicarrier have stories like that.”

Darcy thought very quickly about what set _her_ apart and, “Oh _shit_.”

“You okay?” he asked, looking at her with concern.

“Sure,” she said, voice only _slightly_ strangled-sounding.

Henderson gave her a skeptical look, but left her to her own devices. Definitely friend material.

…

It took two days for Darcy’s fears to be realized, and she wasn’t even _on-shift_ when it happened. She weathered the helicarrier swaying, bucking, and generally trying to kill everybody by attempting to wedge herself under the tiny bunk in her closet-like room, but she still ended up hitting a wall hard enough that she needed to head to the infirmary.

She found Henderson there, getting stitches on some rather nasty-looking gashes. Darcy gave him a very brief, very _small_ wave and headed to the people who looked like they might be able to dispense drugs. Hopefully the _good_ drugs. It took a while for them to patch her up and wrap her ribs (fractured, but not fully broken…yay?), and by the time they’d finished, Henderson was done, too.

“What _the fuck_ happened?” Darcy hissed, clutching at his uninjured arm as they hobbled toward the cafeteria.

“Aliens,” he said in a dazed voice, “and scientists, and _Captain America._ ”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“ _Not_ ,” he said, shaking his head firmly, “I’m not that funny.”

“Wow,” Darcy said.

“Yeah…there was a nuke, too.”

“No. Nope, not dealing with that. I need to go eat, you need to go eat, and then we should make plans to get drunk. _Really_ drunk,” Darcy decided. “Although maybe that should wait till after we’ve healed up a bit, I’m not particularly graceful when soused.”

“You’re kidding,” Henderson said dryly.

“Shut up, you.”

“Henderson!” Both of them stopped short at the shout, slowly turning to face –

_Oh shit._

Darcy hadn’t actually had to _speak_ to Maria Hill, which she was deeply grateful for. The woman appeared to be SHIELD’s version of Chuck Norris. Plus, everything _about_ her _screamed_ DO NOT FUCK WITH ME. And here she was, stalking towards them, scowling.

“Ma’am,” Henderson said, dipping his head in greeting.

She stopped a few feet from them and stood in perfect parade rest. Darcy kind of wanted to poke her and see if she’d react, like one of those guards outside of Buckingham Palace. Of course, she could see that the woman had a bloody lip and a gash on her forehead that had been cleaned and stitched. So, not a robot. That quashed a couple of the scarier rumors.

Hill’s gaze flicked over the two of them, pausing on obvious injuries before moving back to focus on Henderson. “You will be receiving a dock in pay effective starting at the beginning of the last pay period and one week disciplinary leave.”

Henderson stiffened, but nodded. “Understood, ma’am.”

Darcy blinked, _really?!_ “Don’t you have better things to be doing?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Hill turned those cold blue eyes on her and raised an eyebrow. “Keeping order is my job.”

“And you’re good at it,” Henderson interjected hastily, probably trying to halt the mounting tension.

“Do you dot your i’s with checkmarks?” Hill asked curiously.

Darcy nodded, throat too dry to speak.

Hill gave her a second slow perusal, frowning a little at the stiff way Darcy was holding herself. “Heal up, Lewis, SHIELD needs all hands. I look forward to working with you in the future.” She gave both of them a short nod, did an about-face, and walked away.

“What the hell were you _thinking?_ ” Henderson hissed.

“I think she’s my soulmate,” Darcy said.

“…I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“Not. Weird day, huh?”

Henderson shook his head, “Fucking SHIELD.”

“Amen.”

**3\. “Goodbye (Live)” Aaron Tveit (Live from whatever), post-Avengers/pre-Thor 2**

Darcy studied Steve over the rim of her glass. He was methodically cutting his steak into little pieces, dipping them in the au jus, and eating them, all with his eyes a thousand miles away. It was like every other date and/or night together they’d had. Ever. She’d tried to break through to him, tried everything she could _think_ of to crack that hard shell he had crafted around himself, but, no, it would not be cracked and he would not be budged.

And he couldn’t see her trying.

“Jane’s got a long-term project she’s really excited about,” Darcy said, idly stirring her mashed potatoes into her green beans. “She’ll be basing her work out of one of the SI installations in Russia, but Stark has assured her that his security is top-notch, so no worries there. She’s thinking it’ll probably be a one-to-two year engagement.”

“More portals?” Steve asked, politely interested.

“Different kinds of energy affecting the readings, or something like that.”

“Ah,” Steve said, turning back to his meal.

Darcy steeled herself. “I’m going with her.”

“What?”

“I’m going with her,” she repeated.

Steve just looked at her, confused. “You just said it was a one-to-two year engagement,” he said carefully.

“It is.”

“…and this isn’t something you thought you should discuss with me?” he asked, incredulous.

“No, Steve, not really,” she said evenly. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at him, just looked. His shoulders were stiff, posture upright, and his face was trying to communicate outrage, but the feeling couldn’t seem to make it into his eyes. About what she’d expected, really. “Steve, we go out twice a week, when you’re in town. We talk about what we do, we’re… _friendly_ , but no, I didn’t think this was something I had to discuss with you.”

“Darcy, you’re my _soulmate_ ,” he said it like it was an explanation, an excuse, something that could be patched onto this open sore of a relationship and fix everything. “Doesn’t that _mean_ anything to you?”

She shut her eyes and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yeah,” she said, “it does. It means I wish you well, I wish you the _best_ , but it doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice myself to make you happy…but honestly? If I thought I _could_ do something to make you happy, I would. I would do it, and I’ve _tried_ , but I can’t. I can’t be what you need, right now, Steve. I don’t _know_ what you need, and I’m starting to think that me sticking around as – as some sort of _normalcy touchstone_ is keeping you from looking for what you _do_ need.”

He looked stunned, staring at her like he’d never seen her before. “Darcy…”

“You’ve got my email, Steve,” she said, standing. “Goodbye.”

She walked away, and it hurt, _god_ did it hurt, but she also felt relief. They might be soulmates, but they couldn’t make each other happy, not right now. Maybe it just wasn’t the right time, maybe they were trying for the wrong things, and maybe someday down the road they could be friends.

Who knew?

**4\. “Main Titles” Beetlejuice, pre Age of Ultron**

She woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed. She wasn’t _in_ the bed, she was lying _beside_ it, which, _rude_. Actually, the whole kidnapping thing in general was pretty goddamn rude, and also pointless because Darcy? Not exactly prime real estate, not the sort of person people would pay exorbitant amounts of money to get back. Of course, there was always the chance that she’d been kidnapped for some reason _besides_ money.

The chance was about 98%, to be honest, and she was trying _really_ hard not to contemplate _who_ would want the kind of information _she_ might have. The list was pretty short, and the people on it were pretty ruthless…and lets face it, she was pretty expendable. Oh, there were people who valued her, sure, but her value to her kidnappers was probably not predicated on how badly Dr. Foster needed someone to collate her illegible scribble, but rather on how much she remembered of what those notes entailed.

Fuck.

Darcy sat up gingerly, but whatever knock-out chemicals that had been slipped to her in that rag (and how goddamn cliché was _that?_ ) didn’t appear to have too many hangover effects. Handy, but she wasn’t sure whose convenience it was meant for. (Hint: probably not hers.) She was in a small metal room, about ten feet long, maybe six feet across, with no visible doorway and only a tiny slit of a vent in the ceiling, which was where her dim lighting was coming from.

Darcy rattled the chain that was attached to her handcuffs and found that it was much longer than she’d expected. She stood, slowly, _warily_ , after the thought that there might be somebody on the hospital bed above her _finally_ occurred to her. She considered cutting herself some slack on that front, what with the kidnapping screwing with her head and all, but as a self-avowed horror film fanatic, it should have been one of her _first thoughts._

She backed away from the bed as she stood. The chain’s give allowed her barely two feet of clearance from the edge of the bed, where a girl was lying. Huh, not somebody she recognized, and not somebody who looked immediately dangerous. Fellow victim, maybe? The girl looked younger than her by at least a few years, and had a slightly warmer skin tone. Her hair was long, and looked recently-washed, so there was that.

The girl was also hooked up to an IV drip. Darcy would have liked to say it was an obviously _ominous_ IV drip, but the truth was that she had no way of gauging that. _All_ IV drips looked at least a _little_ ominous to her.

Darcy pondered her options, and then slowly stuck out a hand and shook the other woman gently on the shoulder. Nope, nada. She shook her a little harder and…zilch. “It would be really great if you could wake up and tell me if you’re evil or not,” Darcy sighed, leaning against the bed a little.

Seeing no other real options (and not being a fan of sleeping on cold metal floors), Darcy gently scooched the other woman over a little on the bed, then untucked the blankets from where they lay and lifted them, intending to tug them more towards the middle of the bed so that she could lay head-to-toe with the other woman and keep _both_ of them covered. Her plans abruptly shifted when she saw the black writing wrapped around the woman’s ankle.

_It would be really great if you could wake up and tell me if you’re evil or not._

Darcy looked down at the writing on her wrist: _It wasn’t supposed to be you!_

Well, fuck.

**5\. “When It’s Over” Sugar Ray, post-Thor 2/pre-CA:tWS**

When she’d been headhunted by SI in the wake of the Thor thing (take two, with bonus creepy elves!), the very _last_ thing she’d expected was that she would miss the science. Jane, sure, but the _science?_ She did, though. She missed watching people be brilliant, she missed _helping_ people be brilliant. Sure, she was helping in her current job as one of Pepper Potts’ team of assistants (yes, she needed a _team_ ), but it wasn’t the _same._

Because of her status as both one of Pepper’s assistants _and_ a friend of Jane Foster’s, she had access to the labs. There were places within the labs that she couldn’t go, things she couldn’t get into (not that she’d _want_ to snoop. Much), but for the most part she could go wherever Jane was. It was nice to visit Jane, and the good doctor’s new interns weren’t quite over their star struck hero worship enough to ride herd on the nerd, so it was also a way to make sure Jane stayed fed.

Lunch with Jane became a habit, but eventually the inevitable happened and one day, when Darcy wandered down to the lab with their lunches, Jane wasn’t there. Darcy didn’t bother to ask one of the interns remaining where her friend was: she’d seen the signs of a crash coming the day before. No, she ignored the scientists and slowly shuffled over to one of the emptier tables, settling in for some science-watching.

It was like people-watching, but with more math.

The interns ignored her, for some reason some of Jane’s shiny seemed to have rubbed off on Darcy, so while they didn’t regard her with _quite_ the same level of awe they did Dr. Foster, they did respect her. In the scientists-are-children theory that Darcy had, interns were about the equivalent of teenagers: scientists aged backwards the more education/experience they had, which was why Jane was basically a toddler when it came to some kinds of self-care when she was on a binge.

Jane’s lab was somewhat sequestered because of her involvement with the Avengers (ie: boffing a member), so there weren’t a ton of other scientists to observe. Mostly Tony, another guy with brown hair, and sometimes a _third_ dude with brown hair. Darcy was starting to wonder if that was a requirement.

Dude with brown hair who is often in the labs was currently in the labs, so she watched him and tried to think of a shorter nickname. He’d had fluffy hair up until a few weeks ago when it looked like someone had taken him in hand and bought him a haircut and a _whole new wardrobe_. It was very sexy professor, she approved. In fact…

She watched Sexy Professor putter around, frowning at something in a beaker. Darcy wasn’t really sure what his specialty was, or his name (obviously), but he had to be pretty BAMF to be on the unofficial Avengers floor. Actually, wait, no, she knew this one – wasn’t that Hulk guy also a scientist when he wasn’t…green? She squinted through the glass at him and mentally painted him a nice dark jade.

Yeah, she could kind of see it.

Darcy pondered how she wanted to feel about this. On the one hand, Jane apparently worked with a dude who could turn into the not-so-Jolly Green Giant, on the other hand, he seemed to spend most of his time as a Sexy Professor. Plus, she doubted Stark would let him into the building, let alone near _Pepper_ , if he was really out of control.

After a moment, she decided that it was no weirder than Jane working with a cyborg and went on with her watching.

He became a part of her routine. Whenever Jane wasn’t around (and sometimes when she _was_ ) she’d shift her focus to Bruce “Sexy Professor” Banner. He had a really compelling ‘thinking’ face, and she especially liked watching him find good results. He got this little dimple in the left corner of his mouth and his shoulders sort of…slumped? But in an ‘I am suddenly more relaxed than normal’ sort of way.

It wasn’t as awesome as being _part_ of the science, but it worked for her.

Of course, there is a season for everything (turn, turn, turn), including science stalking.

One day, when she walked into the lab (a no-Jane day) and settled herself down to watch, he caught her eye and frowned. She ducked her gaze and did her best nonchalant-nothing-to-see-here face, looking over at one of the interns. Five minutes later, when she looked back, he was engrossed in his science again, but after only a few seconds, he stiffened and looked _right at her._

This time he was outright _glaring._

Darcy could feel her cheeks reddening, but she gave him her biggest, brightest smile instead of breaking eye contact. He looked startled at that, and the next frown he sent her way was more…considering than angry. Still, Darcy was in no way prepared for him to _leave_ his section of the lab and pass through those big glass doors into Jane’s.

She held her ground as he walked up to her, trying not to fidget and forcibly reminding herself that, wardrobe notwithstanding, he _wasn’t_ actually her professor, principal, or any other sort of authority figure in her life.

Though there was some kink potential there. No, bad Darcy!

“Why are you here?” Bruce asked, stopping several feet away. He must have a big personal bubble.

Darcy pondered the fact that those were the words on one of her soulmarks, but…nah, couldn’t be, right? “I miss science,” she told him.

His hands, which had been fiddling with a pen, suddenly went rigid and the pen snapped, spitting ink all over his clothes. Darcy instantly jumped up and darted towards him with a handful of napkins. Bruce was staring at her with his mouth hanging open, face gone ghastly pale.

“Jesus!” Darcy exclaimed, trying to dab at the inky bits that weren’t at crotch level. “So, I guess you’re – “

“Did Tony put you up to this?” he asked, voice level. _Too_ level.

“Stark? He’s the guy who signs my paychecks, but I answer to Potts. My name's Darcy, by the way,” she muttered, still dabbing at him. She mourned the loss of the twilight blue shirt, it looked _fabulous_ on him. “Your mark is on my wrist, wanna see?”

He nodded, taking a few steps back.

Darcy frowned, confused, but gamely shoved the stack of bangles on her left wrist up enough so he could see the words.

Bruce stared at them for a moment, eyes looking haunted, before he focused on her face. “Why _are_ you down here all the time?”

She shifted from foot to foot, a little uncomfortable now. “I used to be Jane’s intern, now I’m Pepper’s assistant – one of them. I didn’t think I’d miss the labs, but I kind of do? So I come down here and watch science happen…and sort of live the experience vicariously through you. Well, not _just_ you, um, mostly you?”

“Why me?” he asked guardedly.

“…I like your face?” Darcy shrugged helplessly. “Not sure what you’re looking for, here.”

“Nothing to do with the Other – Hulk?”

She frowned at him over the tops of her glasses. “Dude, no offense, but if I was going to actively superhero stalk, you would be _way down_ on my list. If I ever get the chance to sit Captain America down and ask him questions about the wars and his experience with the political hoo-has of the time, I may expire from happiness, but your – “ she waved a hand at him, “ – _stuff_ isn’t as interesting.” She paused, considering, “Okay, the science is interesting. Sort of. It’s like an adult scavenger hunt.”

Bruce was staring at her. “Adult scavenger hunt?” he asked slowly.

“Sort of? I wasn’t a lit. major, I never said I was good at analogies.”

For the first time in their conversation, he cracked a smile. Darcy’s heart fluttered when the dimple appeared, aimed at _her_.

“Scout’s honor,” she said, unable to stop herself from verbally vomiting as her internal ‘HOT GUY SMILING’ alert went off. “Just here for the science, the soulmate thing is just a really unexpected bonus.”

His expression shuttered again. “About that…”

“Hey, hey, whoa, not looking for you to want to put a ring on it,” Darcy babbled, although a part of her kind of _was_ because one of her soulmates was a Sexy Professor type, and obviously she’d been _really good_ in a past life to earn _that_. “It would just be nice if, maybe, you joined me for lunch sometimes?” she asked hesitantly.

Bruce smiled again (and there went her heart again), “That could be arranged.”

“…and maybe you could show me some science, some time?”

He nodded, “Yeah, sounds like a ball.”

“Great! Um.”

“I’m going to – “ he gestured back to his lab.

“Right! Yeah, I need to finish my lunch anyways. Um, you might wanna grab a spare shirt.”

“I’m sure Tony’s got something I can borrow,” he told her.

“Cool, well, I’ll be here…" She paused, licked her lips, and plowed on, "Can I still watch you?”

He paused, and seemed to think it over. “Sure.”

She beamed at him again, practically giddy to have _permission_ , “Awesome!”

And, for the rest of her lunch, every time Bruce caught her watching (often), he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, _yes_ , Henderson is the Galaga guy and _yes_ , that's why he got in trouble with Hill.


	23. iPod shuffle (rhythm is a dancer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6\. “In the Hall of the Mountain King” by Grieg from _Peer Gynt Suite #1, Op. 46_ , Darcy/Bucky  
> 7\. “Gangsta Lovin’” by Eve Feat. Alicia Keys, Darcy/Tony  
> 8\. “Church” by T-Pain featuring Teddy Verseti, Darcy/Clint  
> 9\. “Apparition on the Train” from _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ , Darcy/Bruce/?  
> 10\. “Come Softly to Me” by The Fleetwoods, Darcy/Fandral/Hogun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO OF THE CHALLENGE!
> 
> Usually, I am ALL ABOUT FLUFF. I love the _shit_ out of fluff. However, this does not mean that I don't like other things. Like angst. Or horror. Although, oddly enough, I have been told MANY TIMES that my horror/sad stuff is funny even in the midst of giving people feels. So… consider this your warning. THIS MAY GIVE YOU A SAD.
> 
> OMG GUYS I SAW _GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY_ AND I HAVE _SO MANY **FEELINGS**_ ABOUT HOW TO INCORPORATE IT INTO _DARCY DOES MARVEL._ GUYS, GUYS, SERIOUSLY, _SO MANY FEELINGS._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> **WARNING: elements of body horror, involuntary experimentation, and some violence.**  
> 

**6\. “In the Hall of the Mountain King” by Grieg from _Peer Gynt Suite #1, Op. 46_ , post CA:tWS**

Darcy cursed her Starbucks addiction as she headed back to Stark Tower. She also cursed Stark’s hate-on for the brand, which led to him not allowing them any space in his _massive_ edifice to his own awesomeness. Finally, she cursed the fact that in _this_ heat, by the time she made it back to the lobby all the ice was likely to have melted. She’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, _literally:_ her alarm had been blaring at her from barely six inches away and it had startled her so much that she’d flailed her way right out of her covers and headfirst into the carpet.

On top of _that_ she’d had to put in yet _another_ work order at her apartment complex to fix her air. It was a decent place for what she paid, but they were terminally slow with any and all maintenance requests, so she couldn’t expect to have A/C again till next week…if she was _lucky_.

New York in the summertime was _not_ her ideal, thanks much. She liked _dry_ heat, not the humidity.

It made her hair _huge_ , like she was perpetually stuck in a bad eighties music video. Not a good look for her.

(Or anyone.)

All around, not a good day. Not her _worst_ , but not good either.

Darcy sighed in relief when the Tower came into view as she turned a corner. The lobby and sweet, sweet A/C was only a few feet away. She considered breaking into a jog to get there faster, but…boob sweat was a serious concern. Her attention was caught by the sight of two _very_ attractive dudes who stood out in the midday press of suited workers on their lunch breaks like bulls in a china shop. One had military-short blonde hair, the other was a brunette with his hair in a haphazard looking bun. Both of them were dressed in sweats and tight shirts.

_God bless America_ , Darcy thought, eyeing them appreciatively. Then she took a second look and realized that she _recognized_ those awesome arms and beautiful butts: that was _definitely_ Steve Rogers and his friend-enemy-friend Bucky Barnes. _God bless America, indeed._ She knew they lived in the Tower, but she’d never expected to see them – the labs and the residences weren’t exactly next to each other, a good thing considering how often Stark’s bots and Jane’s portal experiments liked to explode.

Darcy followed the duo into the building, enjoying the opportunity to ogle. They aimed for the actual push-doors while she opted for the one that spun. She knew there was a proper name for it, but fucked if she knew (or cared) what it was. Darcy had barely made it five feet past the spinny-door when there was a commotion over by the superheroes. She looked over to see five guys in suits wielding guns, _big_ ones, and attempting to get - capture? Subdue? Kill? – the soldiers.

She had a moment to note that it was probably pretty stupid to bring a long-range weapon to a fight against hand-to-hand experts before one of the dudes let loose a spray of bullets across the floor and – oh.

Darcy looked down at the spreading red stain on her cheerful pink shirt. Wow. Wow, that really hurt. She dropped the coffee, hands going to her stomach and just sort of plucking uselessly at the sodden material before – yup, there went her balance. Her leg was crumpled awkwardly underneath her, and she was sure that that fall would probably have hurt if her brain wasn’t already overwhelmed with _Jesusfuckingow_.

The cold, slushy Starbucks remnants were soaking into her jeans. Definitely a wrong-side-of-the-bed day.

On the flipside, there was probably a ninety percent chance she was about to meet her soulmate, so…yay? Growing up with _You'll be alright, I'm just going to put pressure on the wound._ had kind of sucked. Her mom had apparently gone through all the stages of “Oh shit, my child has a sucky soulmark,” before settling on a philosophical, “Maybe your soulmate will be a doctor?”

Which was just so typical of her that it traveled straight through exasperating and back into endearing.

She could still hear the sounds of fighting. Honestly, it sounded a lot like an action film, only…more _crunchy_. Darcy assumed that it was the sound of bones breaking, and then rapidly repressed that idea because it was making her nauseous. Or, wait, no, that might just be the bullet wound.

It hurt, _god_ did it hurt. It wasn’t just her stomach, either. You always forgot how important your core muscles ( _probably why they call them ‘core’_ ) were to every motion you made until you hurt yourself. This really fucking hurt. She knew that she needed to put pressure on the wound – the soulmark was a bit of a hint - so she tentatively moved her hands over it and pressed and –

Yeah, okay, she _could_ hurt more. Awesome. Her vision was starting to get blurry at the edges, that was probably a bad sign, right? She hoped her soulmate would hurry their ass over and fix her or something. Maybe distract her from the pain until the superheroes got through with the goons and the medical professionals could be called in.

A calm, soothing, “You’ll be alright, I’m just going to put pressure on the wound,” broke her out of her thoughts. Then, before she could focus on them, the speaker (definitely a guy) moved her hands aside and replaced them with his own, pressing down.

Darcy whimpered because _motherfucking ow_ , he was definitely pressing harder than she had (which was probably good but _fucking painful_ ) trying to get her eyes to focus on her soulmate. She saw blue eyes, a strong jaw and…messy brown hair falling around his face. Holy shit. _Holy shit_ , her soulmate was _Bucky Barnes?!_

“Well… hi there, soulmate… I wasn’t expecting _you_ ,” she said in the _understatement of the century_.

Bucky’s expression went from calm and comforting to surprised and panicking in a microsecond. “Steve!” he shouted without turning his head away from her, “Get the doctors! _Now!_ ” His hands were still pressed against her stomach, so she could feel the fine tremble that was now running through them. “Hey, _hey_ , don’t close those baby blues, alright doll?” he said, “You need to stay awake, okay? I need you to _stay with me_.”

“Hurts,” she told him, and god, even _talking_ was painful, this was the _worst_.

“I know, but please – there’s help coming, okay? Just _stay awake!_ ”

“’m not sleepy, you’re just _blurry_ ,” she complained.

He laughed like it had been punched out of him. “What’s your name?”

“Darcy,” she told him, and then, “It’s starting to… hurt less. That’s… bad, right?”

He turned his head and roared, “ _STEVE!_ ” before looking back at her, eyes wide and white-rimmed like a panicking horse. “Darcy, yeah? Hey, that’s a great name, my sister loved that book. Darcy? _DARCY!_ ”

She could still see his mouth moving but she couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roaring in her ears, getting louder and louder and louder until everything went

      white

            and

                  soundless.

**7\. “Gangsta Lovin’” by Eve Feat. Alicia Keys, post-canon**

One of the _very best_ things about working for Jane was that, when she was in a science groove, the good doctor was largely oblivious to…just about everything. While it could be a pain, since that lack of mindfulness frequently extended to bodily needs, it _also_ meant that Darcy could play (blast) any music she wanted while working. She had playlists that corresponded to her moods, playlists for each day of the week, weather playlists, I’m-hungover-fuck-today playlists, I’m-on-a-coding-roll playlists, you name it and it had a playlist.

_Another_ awesome thing about working for Jane? Jane was _loyal_ , also kind of set in her ways, but mostly loyal. When Dr. Foster got the opportunity to move into Stark Tower and continue her research, she made sure there was room in her contract – and the living quarters allotted to her – for Darcy, with options on Erik and Ian. The latter two eventually decided to stay in London for a while, which meant that Darcy, Jane, and Thor had what amounted to an entire _floor_ of Stark Tower _all to themselves_.

Darcy would have offered incense, love, and cookies to the gods of chaos for getting her that internship all those years ago… if she wasn’t about 70% sure that Thor’s asshole brother was counted among them. As it stood, she tried to show her gratefulness by being the very best, like no one ever was: to assist the scientists was her quest, to maintain them was her cause.

(Darcy may or may not have had an awesome-theme-songs playlist.)

By far the best part of the move to the Tower was the awesome, _monster_ sound system Darcy found in the lab. At first she was certain that there must be some mistake, that the hookups were meant for a _different_ lab, but no, turned out Stark was _big_ into tunes when he worked and had a whole Thing about making sure everybody could rock out with their science out…or something.

Jane’s lab was relatively small…mostly because it had a _freaking courtyard._ Yeah, a _courtyard._ Stark had had a wall knocked out and built a platform that could be extended out so that the star were visible, which cemented Jane’s decision to move and Darcy’s opinion that both rich people and scientists were _insane_. Tony Stark, as both, was probably crazier than a bag of badgers. Not that Darcy would know, she had yet to meet the guy, even though his lab – probably just one of many - shared a wall _made of windows_ with their own.

It had started as a typical Monday, but then things went slightly haywire. Darcy was grooving out to her this-will-never-leave-your-head playlist while organizing some energy readings when JARVIS popped up on her display. They’d previously arranged that, if he – the AI had chosen a male voice, she was gonna respect that – needed her attention while her tunes were on, then he should either 1) send her a text or 2) IM her computer screen, whichever was handier.

**JARVIS: Sir would like me to ask you to “lower that ear-bleeding racket.”**

Darcy’s head popped up and she whipped around to look through the window-wall but…nope, no Stark.

**Darcylicious: Is he using his lab today?**

**JARVIS: Not today, miss.**

**Darcylicious: Then why does he need it off?**

**JARVIS: Sir says he “Does not want his labs polluted with that teenybopper crap.”**

Darcy scowled at her screen, not _all_ the songs on her this-will-never-leave-your-head playlist were “teenybopper crap.” Admittedly, some _were_ , but that was the point!

**Darcylicious: Isn’t one of the “OFFICIAL LAB RULES FOR ALL AWESOME SCIENTISTS, EVEN YOU, BRUCE” that _Thou shalt not turn off the tunes?_**

**JARVIS: Yes.**

**Darcylicious: Then do I have to turn off the tunes?**

**JARVIS: No, miss, by his own rules, sir has no recourse.**

**Darcylicious: Then the tunes stay. Thanks, JARVIS.**

**JARVIS: You are most welcome, miss.**

The next day, Darcy had an edited list of “OFFICIAL LAB RULES FOR ALL AWESOME SCIENTISTS, EVEN YOU, BRUCE,” in her inbox that decreed that _Thou shalt not turn on thy tunes if somebody else has beaten you to it._ She frowned at the decree, not really seeing the relevance, and prepared for her day.

When she got to Jane’s lab, the significance was revealed. She could see through the window-wall that Stark’s lab had about twice as many shiny metal… _things_ in it than it had had the day before, including the man himself – wearing what looked like one of the arms from his suit. Even before she got to the big glass door to _Jane’s_ lab she could hear his music.

Darcy liked Black Sabbath as much as the next person, but _not_ when it was _passive-aggressive_ Black Sabbath.

Not cool, Stark. Not cool.

She faced away from the window-wall and did her work, trying not to let on that she actually _liked_ the music. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Then she decided that that was kind of silly, he couldn’t _possibly_ actually _care_ about her opinion. This wasn’t personal, it was just about the music, and she could respect that. Of course, the next time she _did_ look up, he made a point of catching her eye and waving to her with that big red-and-gold robot arm, grinning triumphantly.

Oh, it was _on_.

…

What followed was a war of music. Darcy followed Jane’s schedule and Jane’s schedule was normal-normal-I-may-never-sleep-again-normal, and Stark’s seemed to be I-must-science-every-day-at-half-past-whenever-the-fuck-I-feel-like-it, so they weren’t _always_ in the labs at the same time. Still, there was enough of an overlap that they could continue their little musical feud.

It started with songs that, Darcy assumed, were ones that they actually _enjoyed_. Darcy busted out her angry-chick-rock playlist, and Stark responded with grunge rock (smells like teen spirit, indeed). Stark played jazz for an _entire week_ , and Darcy responded with her fun-but-odd-lyrics playlist. That was where it got weird.

Stark pulled out some really bizarre experimental music that sounded like a cross between STOMP and hailstorm in a junkyard. Darcy responded with the sounds of nature overlaid with harp. Stark played “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” on repeat for _an entire day_ , so Darcy broke out “Porgy & Bess.”

Then Stark did something Darcy could not forgive: he played _Nickelback_.

The next day Darcy came to the lab with a hand drawn sign that said “YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF” in black lettering, popped in ear buds _and_ put on earmuffs…and then set the Alvin and the Chipmunks ‘Christmas Album’ on repeat.

She got about an hour’s-worth of work in (it helped that she could barely hear those horrible high-pitched voices) before suddenly her chair was _moving_. Darcy shrieked and grabbed at her seat to hang on, tilting her head back and seeing…Tony Stark’s arm, leading up from Tony Stark’s hand, which had grabbed the back of her chair, and yup, that was definitely _Tony Stark_ dragging her out of Jane’s lab and into _his_. He pulled her up to a relatively clean table, pushed her chair in, then grabbed his own chair and sat across from her, folding his arms and looking at her seriously.

“Alright, Lewis, we have a problem: you have _godawful_ taste in music.”

Darcy felt her whole body lock up…except for her mouth, which ran on autopilot, “ _You’re_ an autocratic asshat.”

Stark’s jaw dropped. “Run that by me again?”

“Au-to-cra-tic asshat,” she said, still running on automatic (ie: snark). “Want me to spell it?”

“No, thanks, I’ve got the message right here,” he tapped a spot just below and to the right of the arc reactor.

Darcy reciprocated by lifting her hair up and twisting around so he could see the line of writing that ran just below her hairline. She jumped when he poked her in the back of the neck, “Ow, watch it!” When she turned back she found him settling himself back in his seat, eyes narrowed and studying her intently.

“Do you ever wear your hair up?”

“About as often as you go out in public without a shirt.”

He arched a brow.

“Okay, probably less often than that.”

Stark nodded, “So…”

“Yeah?”

“Your taste in music still sucks.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, “Just because I have eclectic tastes, mister the-only-good-music-was-written-when-I-was-a-teenager.”

“That hurts, _infant._ ”

“Hmm…age-based jokes might be a little awkward.”

He shrugged, “If we don’t make them, other people will.”

Well, that answered the do-you-wanna-go-public question. Sort of. “So, you want to…?”

Stark tilted his head, “I want to talk to someone who finishes their sentences? Yes.”

“Ha-freaking-ha.” Darcy sat up, folding her arms and leaning them on the table. “Do you want to date me?”

He winced, “That sounds so…juvenile.”

“Just answer the question.”

In answer, he stood up, rounded the table, and grabbed her hands to draw her to her feet. Once she was upright he made a ‘twirl’ motion with one hand. Rolling her eyes, Darcy obliged, trying to play off the fact that she could have sworn she actually _felt_ the path that his eyes took as he checked her out very, _very_ thoroughly. After the full circuit, she stopped and put her hands on her hips, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Stark gave her a grave look. “I don’t think we can do platonic,” he told her, “we’re both just too hot.”

Darcy snorted and then gave him her own elevator look. He was only a bit taller than her, enough so she could wear decent heels. Was he older than her? Definitely, but darn well preserved (probably from all the booze). Truth was, even if he’d had a face as ugly as sin, he’d still have ended up in the positives based on sheer charm. Put that together with the fact that he was actually pretty hot and, well, Darcy had no real objections. He was smirking at her by the time her onceover reached his face.

“So?” he asked, completely confident. (She couldn’t blame him)

“Eh,” she shrugged, “I wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers.” She grinned, “I guess you’ll do.”

**8\. “Church” by T-Pain featuring Teddy Verseti, post-T:tDW**

It took fifteen minutes for the cavalry to arrive after Darcy pressed her panic button.

It had taken only five minutes for Darcy to subdue her would-be kidnappers.

She stood, tapping her foot and waiting impatiently, in the middle of a small circle of unconscious bodies. There had been five of them, all taken down by a combination of her boobs (thank you, nature) and her tazers (thank you, Stark). The one was useful for distraction, the other for striking without mercy. Unfortunately, most of her shirt had been sacrificed in the process. The soft cotton v-neck had died in the line of duty, and now lay at her feet where she had dropped it. After thug #4 had grabbed it on his way down (tazer #2 took a little to warm up), it had given up on any pretense of providing actual coverage.

All this meant that when the cavalry arrived ( _late_ , wow, she felt _so protected_ ) she was pissed off, cold, and not in the mood to be fucked with. Darcy knew that the shock would wear off soon, and by then she hoped to be in a place where she had access to fuzzy sweaters and ice cream.

‘Cavalry’ appeared (literally) in the form of a guy who dropped silently from the fire escape next to her, bow drawn and arrow knocked.

“Seriously?” she couldn’t help but complain, “I ask for help and they send me _Robin Hood?_ ”

His head jerked up from where he had been studying the bodies (props to him for not pausing on the girls, who were displaying a dismaying amount of _perkitude_ in the cool autumn air). “I usually prefer to go by ‘Clint,’ but whatever floats your boat,” he said wryly, moving toward her.

Darcy gaped at him. “You know,” she gathered herself, “usually this would be the part where I freak out and maybe apologize for the implied insult – “

“No offense taken,” he said with a charming grin.

“ – but I’m still stuck on the freaking _bow and arrow_.”

He - _Clint_ , apparently – shrugged, using the toe of his boot to flip one of the attackers over. “Even with the best silencer in the world, guns make noise.”

“ _Anything_ going through the air really fast makes noise.”

“Yeah, but people _duck_ for bullets, they just get confused when they hear whistling.”

She shrugged – and this time she noticed him following the movement out of his peripherals – conceding the point. “So, is there some sort of extraction team to get these guys put away, or are you it?”

He smiled, “I’m the first wave, the one that gets the civilian out of trouble.”

“And when the civilian already got _herself_ out of trouble?” she asked curiously.

“Well, usually I’d congratulate said civilian. In your case, I’ll take those congratulations and upgrade them to an invitation to grab a cup of coffee…preferably after we find you a replacement shirt,” he said, scowling down at the five unconscious men as if he thought his ire would be enough to reveal whodunit.

Darcy shivered, a mixture of cold and the rapidly-oncoming shock, “This civilian would prefer to get the coffee to go, then you can tell me all about your medieval weaponry fixation in the comfort of my apartment.”

Clint squinted at her, “You just met me, and you’re inviting me to your apartment? I know we’re soulmates, but that’s just…not smart.”

“You’re SHIELD, so you probably know _exactly_ who I am and who I’m friends with. Besides,” she bared her teeth in a grin, “I’m not out of tazers yet.”

He paused, and then tried to unobtrusively scan her outfit: sandals, skirt, and bra. “Where are you hiding them?”

“That’s a fourth-date level secret, Legolas.”

He snorted, “Alright, _sparky_ , it’s a date.”

**9\. “Apparition on the Train” from _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ , post-T:tDW**

When Darcy woke up, it was to a blinding light.

“Hello, Ms. Lewis, glad to have you back with us,” a slightly accented voice said.

“Sir, the subject is prepared, is this really necessary?” a second voice asked.

Darcy squinted against the light and was able to make out a few people standing around her. There was a bright light coming from a room in the direction her feet pointed, but the speakers were at her head, just out of her line of sight. She was lying on something lightly padded: she could feel her hands and feet and limbs – the air was cold, was she _naked?_ \- but she _couldn’t move._ Her breath started to speed up, what –

“Sh, sh, Ms. Lewis. May I call you Darcy?” Accent asked, obviously rhetorically. “Darcy, you are here because you have several… _qualities_ we feel we can work with. You are here to become a part of the future, one of many miracles that will shape our world in the days to come.”

“Thor,” she choked out, “the Avengers, they’ll come looking – “

“Yes, your friendship with the Asgardian. You are dear to him…that is one of those _qualities_ I mentioned.”

Suddenly the table was moving, they were taking her towards that bright light.

“Darcy, a suggestion?”

Closer now, she could see that the light was almost solid, a barrier that was slowly moving closer and closer till the foot of the bed pierced it, sending a hum through the metal that was so intense it seemed to rattle her bones.

“You – you son of a bitch, what the hell are you – “

The table paused.

“Try to survive.”

It shot forward the last few remaining feet, consuming her.

All she knew was pain.

…

“…thesia not working, she’s burning through it too fast.”

“Can you keep her stable?”

“Yes, but the pain – “

“Is of no matter.”

“But there may be psych…”

…

“…tion complete.”

“Congratulations, doctor.”

“The subject may yet…”

…

“…cy! Darcy, can you hear me?”

“She’s unresponsive, Thor, can you carry her?”

“Aye, will it harm her?”

“I don’t think so, big guy, there’s no mark from the IV.”

“…she’s healing.”

“ _Fast._ ”

Darcy opened her eyes and saw – “Thor,” she breathed.

His face was grim, “Darcy, I must carry you, we are getting you out of here.”

She tried to move but, “I can’t - _please_ , Thor, it _hurts_.”

He looked up, away from her, to someone on her other side. “Natasha?”

Darcy turned her head just in time to see a redhead give him a nod, then there was a click, a hiss, and pressure on her arm…and she drifted.

…

“…must’ve just finished.”

A scoffing noise, “You know better. That apparatus, the one Thor smashed? I saw the pictures of what was left: it was some kind of giant conductor, and it was aimed at _her_. Probably to keep her under. My bet? They switched it off as soon as they knew we were coming: they _wanted_ us to find her.”

“Are you saying…”

Darcy opened her eyes. The ceiling above was white. Bright but not – not the horrible _light_ she remembered. She tried to take stock: there was a giving surface beneath her, something soft on top of her… She went through, twitching each finger, toe, and up her limbs, moving muscles just to see if she _could_ until she reached her neck and turned her head to see two men standing beside her.

One was Tony Stark, the other she didn’t recognize. Maybe he was a _doctor_ doctor? She focused on him: “What did they do to me?”

He went very pale, very fast, and immediately turned and ran for the door located just behind him.

That was…not comforting. Darcy felt tears springing to her eyes. She turned to Stark, “ _What did they do to me?_ ”

He moved closer to the bed, eyes sharp on her. There was a rattling sound as he dragged a chair over, probably with his foot, and settled down beside her. “We took you out of a Hydra installation,” he told her, “they had all sorts of lovely toys down there…short answer is, they threw a whole mess of stuff into your system and threw some sort of,” he made jazz hands, “stabilization agent I’ve never seen before on top to try and make it stick.”

“Long answer?” Darcy probed. She knew she should be freaking out, and she was, but right now all of those emotions were stuck behind a big plastic wall in her head. All she felt was numb.

Stark shrugged, “The long answer involves a lot of science, which, from what I gather, isn’t really your forte?”

She shut her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks, and laughed weakly. “I don’t…I don’t feel any different, right now. Are you sure what they did _worked?_ ”

He shook his head slowly, “We can’t be entirely sure what’s going to… _stick_ right now.”

She asked, “Can you undo it?” She meant, _What am I? Am I human? Am I something else? What will my soulmates think? Do I still have my soulmarks?_ Her heart sped at the thought of losing _I’m sorry, so, so sorry._ and _It’s you._ She hadn’t met them yet, were they still hers, even after all this?

Stark lifted a hand and made a ‘so-so’ gesture, “What we could scoop out, we did. You are now no more a cyborg than any other twenty-something American. All that’s left is the…biological stuff, and not all of the changes from that are always…immediately apparent.”

Darcy’s eyes went wide. “You mean like the Hulk,” she whispered.

He winced, “Kind of. Maybe. There’re other things out there, but hey! You haven’t blown up yet, good on you, kid.”

She squinted at him, “ _Yet?_ ”

Stark shrugged, “I _told_ them I didn’t do the ‘comforting’ thing, that’s Bruce’s schtick. He’d be in here, holding your hand, but,” he shrugged, grinning, “he hightailed it out of here as soon as you opened those big green eyes of yours. Maybe he was overcome by your beauty.”

“Stark – “

“Call me ‘Tony,’ us science experiments have to stuck together.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Darcy said, gathering herself, "my eyes are _blue_.”

**10\. “Come Softly to Me” by The Fleetwoods, Thor AU**

Darcy noticed Fan-dude and - she didn’t remember his name, but he didn’t seem like the type that was particularly verbose – having a very intense conversation. She would assume that it had something to do with Thor’s… _Thor-ness_ , only the badass warrior chick and the guy who looked like a ginger Santa Claus were both watching their friends in confusion and what might be concern. Thor was off in la-la-land with Jane until badass warrior chick walked over and punched his arm, _hard_.

“Friends,” he called, now frowning along with the rest of them, “what troubles you?”

Fan-dude and the quiet man gave each other a long, intense look, then turned as one to face Thor, Fan-dude lifting one of his sleeves to reveal a weird symbol that looked almost like an infinity sign, only filled in instead of blank. One of the sides was a dark blue, the other an emerald green.

Thor’s eyes went wide with surprise, “This is joyous news, friends! Who is your third?”

“We are not certain,” quiet man said, stepping forward, “it may have happened during the battle.”

“We were so focused, we did not notice,” Fan-dude said, looking lost.

“Um,” Jane broke in, “those are your soulmarks, right?”

The duo looked to Thor for confirmation, who nodded. “Midgardians have a different method of discovery,” he explained.

“We have searched for our third for a long time,” Fan-dude said. “To be so close, and still – “

Darcy jumped in surprise when someone poked her, turning to find Jane had broken away from Thor. The scientist was giving her an expectant look.

“What?”

“Oh,” Jane frowned, “in all the excitement, I forgot to tell you. The writing is theirs. Asgardian writing!”

Darcy’s jaw dropped, “No freakin’ way, you don’t _actually_ think – “

“I’m a scientist, but I don’t think it’s just a coincidence. _Ask_.”

Thor broke in, “Darcy, you too have our script, just as Jane does?”

“Um, yeah, big guy. I’ve got two, just like her.”

He paused, “Ah, yes, that reminds me. Sif!” He yanked Jane to his side and dragged her over to the badass – aka “Sif.” That kind of manhandling would probably get old, _fast_ , although it seemed to be more born out of his sheer enthusiasm than anything else, and if he was doing it for the reasons Darcy figured, she didn’t think she could blame him.

She turned towards the dynamic duo, taking a deep breath. Both of them were staring at her, confusion on Fan-dude’s face while the quiet man’s was completely unreadable. “So,” she said, unbuttoning her coat as she walked toward them, “I’ve always had these weird rune-type things on my arms, ever since I can remember, and nobody could ever tell me what they were. Then I meet the boss-lady over there and find out _she’s_ got them too – “

The quiet man looked like he’d bought a clue, and was now staring at her intently, Fan-dude still seemed confused.

“I mean, they might not be yours, but even if you could just _read them_ to me, that’s be great.” So saying, she shucked her outer layers, leaving her in a thick-strapped tank top, and completely baring her shoulders. One had only a few of the strange runes, the other had significantly more. Darcy turned to show them the short one, first.

“ _Milady,_ ” Fan-dude breathed, reaching out and gently brushing her skin.

“That is Fandral’s hand,” the quiet man said. “You bear his words on your skin! Are all Midgardians marked thus?”

Darcy turned, showing them her other shoulder. “Yeah. So, what does it say?”

‘Fandral’ smirked, “As Hogun just spoke, so reads the script on this arm. Your other bears my ‘milady.’ You are _twice_ marked as mine.”

‘Hogun’ wrapped a warm, calloused hand around Darcy’s bicep, thumb trailing over his handwriting on her skin. “It is _different_ ,” he said, “but no less pleasing to see how you have been marked as ours.”

Darcy blushed. “We have our ways, what’s yours?”

Fandral turned, showing her his arm. Close up, she could see that the circles were intricate designs, not solid blobs of color. The dark blue one was full of swirls, and small details that she thought were probably meant to represent _something_. The green one had little details that _almost_ seemed like music notes and circuits.

She reached out and laid a finger on the green circle, snatching her hand back when Fandral gasped.

“They are…sensitive,” Hogun explained. “That is your mark on Fandral, and mine.”

Darcy nodded slowly, trying to adjust to the idea that her soulmates were _aliens._ She glanced over her shoulder towards her boss and found Jane sandwiched in between Sif and Thor, each of them with a hand wrapped around one of the petite scientist’s biceps.

“Our lives are bad pulp fiction!” she called.

“Better than Spanish soap operas!” Jane called back.

Darcy looked from Fandral to Hogun and – yeah, she was right. Besides, Darcy had always loved sci-fi.

She just never thought she’d _actually marry it._

Soulmark it.

Whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs away, hides in bunker*


	24. call me on a line (call me anytime)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _SIL IN LABOR! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! REPEAT: THIS IS NOT A DRILL!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This is a snippet of a longer continuity that currently lives in my head where Darcy met Clint in his circus days and her parents _flipped their shit_ , but then kept in touch with him until they gave the info to Darcy when she was 16 and she _tracked that fucker down._
> 
> Also, LOOK! LOOK WHAT I LEARNED TO DO!
> 
> Expect a lot of gifs used as fic references, or fic-inspiration. Blame Rainne and the gif war we got into.

When Phil hears the commotion coming from inside the makeshift lab – mental note to use facilities as bargaining chip should they need to make an offer – he assumes that Dr. Foster has defied his expectations and started a physical altercation with one of his agents over her equipment. When he walks in, he finds that he…was not wrong about the dispute involving one of his agents, but the female in question is _not_ the diminutive scientist, but rather her equally small-statured intern.

Darcy Lewis – college student, honor roll, changed majors three times – is standing before Clint Barton, poking him in the chest while haranguing him and his agent is…taking it. Is, in fact, looking more ashamed than Phil has ever seen him, and Phil was _there_ for Budapest, no report in the world – no matter how detailed - could do that travesty of a mission justice.

It appears that Ms. Lewis is wrapping up, ending with folded arms and a growled, “Explain yourself, _now_.”

Clint rubs the back of his neck with one hand, actually trying to _duck Ms. Lewis’s gaze_. Phil is not sure whether he is predominately disturbed by the hold she apparently has on him, amused at the reaction she’s getting, or flat-out puzzled because he has never heard Barton mention anyone outside the agency.

“I’ve been out of the country – “

“For _six months?!_ ”

“Kind of?”

Ms. Lewis does not appear to be ready to let him off the hook. “ _Kind of?_ ” she echoes. “Were you gone for six months or not?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve been back for a couple of days - ”

“ _And you couldn’t spare a minute to shoot off an I’m-not-dead email?!_ ”

“…I’m here now?”

Ms. Lewis appears to be gearing up to tackle Clint; Phil feels that this is the appropriate moment to step in. “Is there a problem here?”

“No.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Babe, come on.”

“Don’t you ‘babe’ _me_ , Clinton Francis Barton! You are on my shitlist until further notice,” with a sniff and a toss of her head, Ms. Lewis heads over to Doctors Selvig and Foster, pulling the latter into a hug and glaring at Barton over the other woman’s shoulder.

“…Barton?”

Phil is going to mark this day in his calendar: the day he discovered Clint had a sense of shame. “I…may need to alter my soulmate records, sir.”

Training keeps him from showing his surprise: there is at least a fifteen year age gap there, and _when_ could they have met? Barton has been with SHIELD for over a decade. “You do that,” he says, instead of asking any of the myriad of questions he now has. “And Barton?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I would recommend groveling. Six _months?_ ”

“With all due respect, sir? Shut up.”


	25. call me on a line (call me anytime), part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby girl (aka 'Digger,' aka 'Murphy,' aka 'Braxton') came into the world at 1:31AM last night, weighing in at 8lbs 7oz and measuring 22 inches long (two inches shy of half her six-year-old brother's height, lol). She and mommy are recovering in the hospital for a few days, so I'm at home introducing the kidlets to "The Pagemaster."
> 
>  
> 
> THIS IS TECHNICALLY A PREQUEL TO THE LAST FICLET!
> 
> How Darcy met Clint (she won't actually remember, and he'll never forget).

Darcy waits for the people to exit the tent, anxious to see the bow guy. She’s standing towards the back of the small crowd that has gathered after the show with her Gramma, Gigi, and Mamselle. They thought she’d want to see the lady who rode the pony, but Darcy’s friend Julie had an older sister who rides ponies, it’s not _that_ special. The guy who shoots apples off of people’s heads is _much_ more awesome.

“Can we go _now?_ ” Darcy asks, straining a little against the hold Gramma has on her hand.

“Not yet, sugar,” Mamselle is the one who answers. “We’ll wait till he can give us his _full_ attention.”

“ _Josephine…_ ” Gramma says, and she’s using her Darcy-don’t-you-dare tone.

“What?” Mamselle says, “I meant for _Darcy._ ”

“ _Sure_ you did, Joe,” Gigi mutters. “His arms’ve got nothin’ to do with it.”

Darcy largely ignores their byplay, used to the bickering. “Can we _go?_ I want to _see!_ ”

“Alright, sweetheart, we’ll go,” Gramma says. “Josephine? _Be good._ ”

Mamselle grins. “I’m always _good_. Sometimes I’m _grand._ ”

Darcy tugs Gramma along before she can respond to that, dragging her over to where the guy with the bow is standing. She’s not very shy, but when he goes down on one knee to speak to her eye-to-eye, she ducks behind Gramma’s leg.

“Darcy, did you have something that you wanted to say to the young man?” Gigi prods.

She peeks out from behind Gramma’s leg, meeting the bow guy’s pretty blue eyes. “You shoot good,” she whispers.

“ _Well_ , Darcy, he shoots _well_ ,” Mamselle sighs.

“Well, thanks, little lady,” bow guy says, smiling at her.

Gramma, Gigi, and Mamselle gasp simultaneously.

“ _What did you say?_ ” Gramma hisses, bending down and snatching Darcy into her arms. Uh-oh, that’s her Joesephine-you- _idiot_ voice! He’s in _trouble…_

Bow guy stands, looking confused. “I said _Thanks, little…_ Oh. Oh, _shit_.”

“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, young man,” Gramma declares.

“Oh, Dina, lay off,” Gigi interrupts, “can’t you see he’s terrified?”

Darcy looks at bow guy more closely and sees that he looks like Freddie Marcus had looked when Jason Banks brought his spider in for show-and-tell. “Are you okay?” she asks him, a little worried. If bow guy is sick, he won’t be able to shoot, and then other kids won’t get to see how cool he is. Darcy doesn’t want to be responsible for all _that._

“I’m…fine,” bow guy says, but he sounds like Mamselle does when she says she didn’t take the last cookie.

“Dina, why don’t you go take Darcy over to try some games, let Joe and I handle this, hmm?” Gigi says, eyebrow raised.

Darcy squirms a little as Gramma’s grip on her tightens.

“Fine,” Gramma says, scowling, and starts walking away.

“Bye, bow guy!” Darcy waves at him over Gramma’s shoulder.

He smiles at her and waves back, if she squints she can make out his bow behind his head.

Yeah, definitely cooler than the lady who rides the ponies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going by the MCU timeline, Darcy is 4 to Clint's 19 in this ficlet. Poor, poor bow guy.


	26. fever dream(ing of you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU CAN PRY MY CORNY TITLES FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS.
> 
> On a more serious note, NEWBORN BABIES ARE A LOT OF WORK. I have several (dozen) half-starts and half-finished things but this is the first thing I've gotten to finish since baby girl was born and it IS NOT WHAT I SAT DOWN INTENDING TO WRITE, OKAY? I DON'T KNOW WHERE THIS CAME FROM.

It all started when they moved into the Tower.

Darcy was exhausted from the flight (long), the move (so _much **packing**_ ), and Jane’s… _Jane-ness_. The scientist had the magical ability to fall asleep anywhere, at the drop of a hat, an ability Darcy suspected stemmed from her body’s desperate desire for sleep. On the other hand, she herself could not sleep on airplanes. _Period._ It didn’t matter what drugs she took, and, in fact, it was _worse_ if she took drugs because then she ended up loopy, nervous, _and_ exhausted.

By the time they reached the Tower, Jane was well-rested and ready to start sciencing immediately while Darcy was bleary-eyed and desperate for bed. Even so, she gamely followed her boss to the new lab to help with the unpacking process, mostly so she could supervise the master copy of the “List of all the Shit Jane Can’t Live Without.” There had been a good deal of judicious whittling of the machines in the move from London to New York, and while Jane had signed off on all of it, it had been a rush job and she needed some reminding of her decisions in order to ensure she didn’t storm the airport to find her missing luggage.

This meant that Darcy was running on coffee and willpower for a solid seven hours _after_ an international flight _and_ a whirlwind packing job. The coffee was blacker than black, Darcy’s mood even darker, but she persevered. There was a not-insubstantial part of her that was still sort of surprised that Jane had not only kept _her_ on rather than Ian, the intern who _actually knew_ his science, but also upgraded her from paid intern to paid _assistant_. The best way she knew how to _show_ how happy she was with that choice was to work hard.

If that meant what amounted to a full 22 hours of no sleep, then so be it. She’d done similar things in college – she’d manage.

Darcy knew the lack of sleep would catch up with her, but she assumed it would be in the form of a long crash. She did _not_ take into account the germ factory that airplanes could be, or the ways in which travel seriously screwed with her immune system. When, two days _after_ the move, she started her morning with a headache, she took some Tylenol and powered through. When, the day after _that_ she woke chilled and (probably) feverish, she pulled out her fluffiest sweaters and made it through the day with more meds and a staggering amount of tea.

The next morning, she didn’t get out of bed.

“Oh,” she said to her ceiling, which she knew to be perfectly flat but currently looked like it was rolling with ocean-like waves, “I guess I’m _sick_ sick.” She slowly turned her pounding head, looking for her phone. It sat on her bedside table, two feet and twenty thousand miles away.

Slowly, inch by inch, she edged towards it, finally getting close enough that she could scrabble her fingers over the table and slide the phone onto the bed beside her head. _Thank god for touch-screens_ , she thought as she painstakingly tapped out her password and found her email. She sent off a quick message to Jane: _Sick, can’t come down,_ then let herself sink again.

Three hours later, when she resurfaced, she managed to make it to her kitchenette through sheer determination. Darcy hadn’t had a chance to use the requisition system Stark had set up for residents of the Tower and their groceries, so she was limited to what was already there (tap water) and what was left of the stuff she’d brought on the plane with her (two granola bars). She forced down one and a half of the bars and two glasses of water before fatigue overcame her, then eyed the distance to her bedroom and settled for the couch.

The persistent shrilling of her phone, left behind in her bedroom (“She Blinded Me With Science” was the perfect ringtone for Jane, not so great for Darcy’s headache), woke her several hours later. The room was still bright, so she couldn’t have been out for _that_ long. She waited it out, another eight cycles of the song before whoever it was gave up, and then fell back to sleep.

The next time she woke, it was dark and someone was talking to her. The voice was funny, though…wait, she knew this, it was the AI – JARVIS.

“Wha - ?” she said.

“Ms. Lewis, Dr. Foster has been trying to reach you for several hours – “

“Bu’m sick,” she mumbled.

“Yes, Ms. Lewis, we are aware. Protocol dictates that, if possible, permission should be asked before I unlock your door for you. May I do so?”

Darcy frowned, “Why?”

“Dr. Foster would like to check on you.”

“’m sick,” she said again, “what else d’you need t’know?”

“We would like to ascertain the extent of your illness. Ms. Lewis, do I have your permission?”

“’m gross,” Darcy said, “lemme shower first?”

There was a pause, and then, “Dr. Foster has agreed to wait until you have showered.”

“Cool. I’ll jus’ get right on that…” Darcy slowly sat up, eyes tightly shut against the vertigo that assailed her from even so small a move as that, and then considered the possibility of standing. It didn’t really seem like the best idea.

She sat there for another minute before giving up what was left of her dignity and sliding to the floor, crawling on hands and knees to get to her bedroom and the adjoining bathroom.

“Ms. Lewis?”

Her head had cleared a bit, though she still felt like lukewarm death and didn’t particularly want commentary from her invisible peanut gallery. “No talking, JARVIS.”

“Perhaps I might send for Dr. Foster…?”

“I can do this.” She was almost _80% certain_ that she could do this.

“If you say so, Ms. Lewis,” the AI said dubiously.

_Leave it to Tony Stark to create a prissy AI_ , Darcy thought. She had made it to the bathroom and was now contemplating her options. She could shower or take a bath. The one would be faster, but would involved standing, the other carried the risk of drowning.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Ms. Lewis?”

“Is there some sort of…waterproof chair-thing I could stick in the shower?”

“Not that I am aware – “

“Figures – “

“ – but there is a stool under the sink.”

Darcy blinked. “Oh. Does that come standard?”

“Yes, Ms. Lewis.”

“Do I want to know _why_ that comes standard?”

“No, Ms. Lewis.”

She nodded, “Thought so.” She grabbed the stool and dropped it into the tub, then turned the water on to let it warm…which took about three seconds, go Stark. Stripping her sweat-soaked pajamas took significantly longer. After she got the shirt off over her head, she sort of flopped onto the ground and shimmied out of everything else, up to and including her sports bra. The effort left her panting for breath, head spinning from the exertion.

“Ms. Lewis?”

“Oh my _god_ , JARVIS, I’m _fine_.”

“Your vitals are not within the normal range, Ms. Lewis.”

“…I’m sick. But still _fine_. Just…tired. And _yes,_ I still want to get clean.”

“Yes, Ms. Lewis. May I suggest getting into the shower?”

“Did Stark _design_ you to be a little shit, or was that a choice you made for yourself?”

“Sir based a certain amount of my initial programming off of his own brainwaves – “

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“ – but allowed me unlimited ability to alter myself as I see fit.”

“…so by nature, nurture, and preference, you are a little shit.”

“If you say so, Ms. Lewis.”

She snorted and then painstakingly climbed into the shower. The hot water felt _fantastic_ , and she very seriously contemplated how amazing it would be to stay there for the rest of the day - but doubted she would be allowed that indulgence. On one level she knew she needed checked on, and appreciated Jane’s caring, on another she just wanted to _sleep_ , damnit.

Darcy managed a quick rubdown with a bar of soap and a conditioner rinse before she completely ran out of energy. Wet, and dragging a towel behind her, she made her way into her room and rooted out some fresh pajamas from the bottom shelf of her dresser. Getting dressed left her panting and staring up at the undulating ceiling again while her head spun.

“Okay…lemme just…get to the couch….and then you can…let her in.”

“As you like, Ms. Lewis.”

She started her painstaking journey back to the couch with a groan and a moan. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Ms. Lewis?”

“Are you _always_ monitoring our rooms?”

“I have basic biometric programs in place to ensure the residents’ health, but other than that, not usually.”

“So, why are you doing _this?_ ”

“You are ill, Ms. Lewis. I have secondary protocols that come into effect when residents are not well.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Lewis.”

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Ms. Lewis?”

“You’ve monitored me showering, I think you can call me ‘Darcy.’”

“…as you like, Ms. Darcy.”

She snorted. “Such a little shit.”

…

Darcy fell into a dream-like haze almost as soon as she got onto the couch. She woke up a little when she felt Jane’s freezing cold hand on her brow, who knew how long later, and smiled up at the scientist.

“Heeeeeeeeey, bosslady. How’re you?”

“Oh, _Darcy_ ,” Jane sighed, eyes worried but lips twitching, “I’m fine. _You’re_ the one who’s sick.”

“Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

“You’re coming to live in my apartment for a few days so I can take care of you.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, staring up at her, “but you couldn’t even keep a _cactus_ alive.”

“ _Darcy!_ ”

“What? It’s true! You killed Bob!”

“I did _not_ kill the cactus, and he was _not_ named Bob!”

“You _totally_ killed Bob,” Darcy muttered mutinously.

“ _Darcy._ ”

“Oh, fine. But, um, Jane?”

“Yes?”

“…I don’t think I can make it all the way to the elevator.”

Jane bit her lip, “I suppose I could ask someone to carry you…?”

“Oh. Joy.”

“But Thor’s out with Mr. Stark – “

“If I may, Dr. Foster?”

Seeing Jane jump and shriek was hilarious. “What’s up, JARVIS?”

“There are other residents in the Tower, would you like me to ask if someone might be able to assist you?”

“Um, yes,” Jane said, looking up at the various corners of the ceiling as if she expected to see a blinking light labeled ROBOT EYE LOCATED HERE. “That would be _extremely_ helpful, thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Dr. Foster. Someone will be down shortly.”

“Can I go to sleep again now?” Darcy asked plaintively. Her head was starting to pound again.

“Yes, Darcy,” Jane sighed, reaching out and stroking her forehead.

“Thanks, bosslady,” she murmured, drifting off.

The sensation of moving was what woke her again. Arms were wrapping beneath her shoulders and knees, and then a warm shoulder was under her head. Darcy grumbled a little, refusing to open her eyes, and then wriggled into a slightly more comfortable position braced against Unknown Dude. He was obviously strong, and smelled _really_ good.

“You smell nice,” she mumbled to his shoulder before falling back to sleep, “like detergent and dude.”

She was unconscious too quickly to hear his soft gasp, or Jane’s: “Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DARCY/MYSTERIOUS MUSCLED MAN FTW.


	27. 13 hours (and an oceanic flight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHELP, MY MUSE IS REFUSING TO COOPERATE, SO HERE. HAVE A THING.

Of all the things Darcy was expecting when Jane finally bit the bullet and agreed to work for SI, the _last_ was that Tony Stark would _personally_ fly out to London to escort them back to New York. That was… _fucking sweet._ He was almost exactly like she’d thought he would be: snarky as all get-out, super knowledgeable about pop-culture and, as her granny would have said, a _hoot_. By the time they’d gotten back to Stark Tower, she was having a blast and Jane looked like she was questioning all of her life choices.

“You two should never have been introduced,” Jane said wearily. “You’re gonna be like this all the time now, aren’t you?”

“Nah,” said Darcy.

“We’re gonna get _better_ ,” Tony added with a grin.

Jane sighed and slumped sideways against Thor. Between him, Jane, Tony, Darcy, and several bags of SCIENCE gear, even Stark’s elevator was downright crowded. “I take it back,” Jane whimpered, “I take it all back. I unsign the contract, I unhire you, and I go to art school instead.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Someone gets a little _cranky_ after long flights,” she stage-whispered to Tony.

He smirked, “It’s either that, or the half a mini-bar she drank on the way over.”

“You’re already driving me to drink,” Jane muttered, now practically being held up by Thor.

“Aw, c’mon, Janey – think of what we’ll accomplish together!”

The scientist’s eyes slitted, “Call me ‘Janey’ again and the only thing you’ll be ‘accomplishing’ is feeding worms.”

Thor frowned, looking to Darcy for a translation.

“It means he’ll be dead,” she told him helpfully, now used to being his idiom-aid.

“Alright, _Dr. Foster_ , I’ll keep that in mind,” Tony was saying as the elevator slid to a halt. He started off before the doors had even finished opening, leading them down a long hall. “Welcome to the residential portions of the Tower. We’re headed to the common areas – Pepper’s idea, I would have given everybody their own apartments and called it good – and then I’ll show you the blueprints and let you pick your rooms.”

“’Rooms?’” Darcy echoed as she followed him. “As in _plural?_ ”

“Well, yeah. What, were you planning on sharing?”

“Um.”

Tony paused and turned back to face them, “I’m not really big on ‘sharing’ all the time. It’s a work in progress. _Speaking_ of progressing works, lets talk _machinery_. I’ve seen what you’ve been working with, Foster, and I think with a few tweaks, a little more power – “

“The power of voodoo?” Darcy threw in absently, scanning her surroundings as they entered a large ( _really_ large) kitchen area.

“…what?”

She turned and, seeing Tony’s confused face, gasped. “You’re _kidding_ me. _Please_ tell me you’re kidding.”

“…I don’t do magic, makes me itchy,” he said, frowning at her.

“No, nonononono, _everybody_ gets that reference,” Darcy said, “even people who haven’t seen the film!”

“S’true,” Jane said. “Although I _have_ seen the film. Bowie. Glitter. _Pants._ ”

“Seriously Stark, I’m disappointed.”

He rolled his eyes, “Everybody, really? I’ve never even heard of whatever-it-is you’re going on about.”

“ _OH MY GOD,_ no. That’s just. _No._ ”

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the id of the internet?” Jane asked, wrinkling her nose.

“I am not the personification of 4chan, just the source of a lot of their better gifs,” Tony muttered.

“This is ridiculous, seriously,” Darcy spotted a few people coming into the kitchen and turned to Stark with a serious look. “Here, I’ll prove it to you - _everybody_ knows this one.” She stomped over to the new people, focusing on the big blonde in the front and ignoring her immediate hormonal reaction of _yes please, I would like one, thank you_. “Hey,” she said, “you remind me of the babe.”

He looked like she’d hit him in the face with a brick. “I…don’t get that reference,” he said, staring at her wide-eyed.

Darcy threw up her hands in exasperation and turned back to Stark. “ _SERIOUSLY?!_ What is _wrong_ with you people?! Okay, do you have movie nights, because I think that should be a thing because _Je-sus_ , that’s just _sad!_ ”

“Sad,” Jane echoed, nodding sagely (and somewhat tipsily, she really wasn’t a happy traveler).

Darcy was gearing up for another tirade about the wonders of the eighties film when she felt a large hand clamp down on her shoulder and was forcibly – albeit _gently_ \- turned around. Big and blonde and _holy cats_ was he gorgeous, was staring down at her intently.

“Um, yes?” she said. “Can I help you?”

“What are your words?” he asked her point-blank.

Darcy frowned, and then, “Oh. _Ohmigawd._ Um. Hi!”

“Hi,” he said, and then he smiled. She felt a little dazzled: it was a bright smile.

Behind her, Tony snorted. “Your soulmark is an obscure film reference, _really?_ ”

“IT’S NOT OBSCURE!”

“What babe?” the guy behind big and blonde and _soulmate_ said.

Darcy stepped to one side of big and blonde and _she should really find out his name, soon_ , and beamed at the speaker. “The babe with the power,” she said to the attractive black man smiling at her.

“The power of voodoo?” the second man, shorter and stockier, but no less muscled, added.

“Who do?” the third person, a _ridiculously beautiful_ redhead asked. The corners of her lips twitched up minutely as Tony started muttering what sounded like curses aimed at Darcy’s back.

“You do!” stocky guy exclaimed, now wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Do what?” awesome black guy said, poking big and blonde (who had gone from confused to amused rather quickly, a good sign for their future) in the shoulder.

“Remind me of the babe!” Jane finished, waving at the new people with a big smile.

“See Stark?” Darcy said, turning back to him. “ _Not obscure._ ”

“Steve didn’t get it either,” Tony objected and then looked absolutely _horrified_ at himself.

“He was _literally_ on ice for seventy years,” stocky guy said. “What’s your excuse?”

“Can I join you in regretting everything?” Tony asked Jane.

She shook her head. “Nope, starting to like it here, besides, Darcy just found her soulmate, even if she _is_ ignoring him.”

Darcy jumped, having been doing some rapid thinking and some simple logic in the last few seconds. “Uh, sorry,” she said, turning back to _Steve Rogers_ , Captain America and, apparently, _her soulmate_ , “I really needed to prove that point.”

He looked like he was repressing a smile. “I’ve spent a lot of time around Tony recently, I understand the impulse.”

“Gonna introduce us, Steve?” awesome black guy asked.

“Oh!” Steve jerked as if stung, then rubbed a hand over the back of his neck sheepishly, which did _very interesting things_ to his entire… _everything_ as muscles shifted and moved and…wow. “Well, I would,” he said, “only I don’t know her name.”

“Oh, shit. I mean, I – “ Darcy sighed and resisted the urge to facepalm, offering her hand for a shake instead. “I’m Darcy Lewis, lab assistant to genius.”

“Steve Rogers,” he said, taking her hand (MANY INTERESTING CALLOUSES) in a firm grip. “Also called Captain America – “

“I sort of guessed that, what with the ‘seventy years on ice’ comment,” Darcy interrupted, then flushed because _rude_ so _rude_ , what was she _thinking?_

“Sam Wilson,” said awesome black guy, “since it doesn’t look like this idiot’s gonna get around to us anytime soon.”

“Clint Barton,” said stocky, “I think you’ll fit in around here.”

“Natasha Romanov,” the redhead finished. “Perhaps we should start ‘movie night’ with _The Labyrinth?_ ”

Darcy’s head was sort of spinning because _these were the Avengers_ , holy _shit_.

Steve smiled at her again (which _did not_ help with the spinning), “Maybe we could have that movie-night soon? I’d like to understand where my soulmark comes from.”

“That…sounds great,” she said, smiling up at him (he was still holding her hand, which, she didn’t mind so long as _he_ didn’t, and he didn’t look like he planned to let go anytime soon). “And I’ll be happy to help with any references you don’t get.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

_YOU CAN HOLD ME TO OR AGAINST ANYTHING,_ Darcy’s brain shouted. Thank god her filter had improved, she thought, staring up at her ridiculously handsome and apparently _perfect_ soulmate. _Don’t lose your head, Darce, or you’ll be Princess of the Eternal Blush._ Although, she realized, looking up at her soulmate who was _clearly_ checking her out _holy hormones_ , that last might be inevitable.

Oh well, there were worse fates!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …fo realz, though - if you haven't seen _The Labyrinth_ , WHAT ARE YOU DOING READING FIC?! Go, watch, NOW.


	28. the best part of waking up (soulmates in your kitchen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my long absence, SIL and infant are fine (and the latter is GROWING LIKE A WEED), but life has been very tumultuous. NOTHING is abandoned, and I am still stupidly invested in this 'verse. I have a 38 page word doc that is all WIPs in this universe, fo realz.
> 
> Also, thank you again to everyone who has sent well-wishes and expressed concern. I appreciate it. :-)
> 
> Also also, BLAME RAINNE. For everything, really.

It had taken Darcy about a month of living and working in Stark Tower to go from _OMG THERE ARE SUPERHEROES HERE_ to _oh, the superheroes are back, fuckers better not eat my granola_. She was still in awe of their capabilities, grateful for their actions, and respectful of their space, but – after the sixth time Hawkeye stole her last KitKat – it was safe to say the bloom was off the rose.

She’d developed a useful coping mechanism to deal with having to corral not one, but _four_ eccentric geniuses now that she’d been promoted from intern-of-Jane to babysitter-of-Stark-and-Stark-adjacent. JARVIS was her biggest aid in this, as he had a digital finger in most – if not all – of the systems in the Tower. They had an arrangement: JARVIS would ensure there was fresh coffee for her every time she went to the common area kitchen (where Pepper stored the _really good_ coffee) so long as _Darcy_ made sure Tony ate when Jane did. She could always count on fresh coffee, _always_. It might have seemed a little thing, but in a Tower full of gods, monsters, and mad scientists, it was her little slice of normal.

So, that morning, after three hours of sleep which had followed a _seventeen hour_ science bender, Darcy was _really_ looking forward to her coffee. Like, _really_. Freshly showered but still groggy, she staggered into the kitchen, only to find Steve Rogers (Captain America and _rampant jam-thief_ ) and two _other_ dudes - one white, one black, both buff as hell (was that a condition of being Steve’s friend?) – and all hovering around _her coffeepot_.

“…just turned on, by itself, a few minutes ago,” one of them was saying.

Darcy barely stifled a growl.

Steve turned - probably hearing her with his stupid super-hearing - saw her expression, and then took three _very large_ steps towards her and _away_ from the coffeepot.

Smart man.

“Alright, soldier boys or no,” Darcy said, stalking forward to plant her hands on the kitchen island that blocked her from the duo, “if you touch my coffee, _I will cut you._ ”

They’d both frozen at her first word and then, at her last, turned as one to stare at her with wide eyes. The one on the left had long brown hair pulled back into a messy bun, bright blue eyes, and a metal arm. The one on the right was taller than the other by a good four inches, sporting a haircut that _screamed_ recently-ex-military, and cheekbones most girls would kill for. The Winter Soldier and the Falcon were in her kitchen, great. She mourned the part of her that would once have been excited, because now all she could think was, _Yay, more superheroes with stupidly fast metabolisms who will eat all my favorite foods._

She raised her brows and eyed each of them, then the coffeepot, then them again, meaningfully.

They pair exchanged a look, and then each took a step to one side, opening a clear path to the pot.

Darcy quickly went to the cupboard and grabbed a mug, then turned back to her coffee, ignoring the two men as she moved between them and poured herself a cup. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, savoring the smell, before taking a small sip and letting out a hum of satisfaction. God bless the bean, without it she would go stark (pun _completely_ intended) raving mad.

When she opened her eyes, she found that she was under some pretty intense scrutiny from the soldier boys…and Steve was beaming so brightly that she wanted to grab a pair of sunglasses, or throw some drapes at him, or something.

“What?” she said, scowling at him.

“Nothing! Just…happy to see you again, Darcy, it’s always a pleasure!”

She squinted at him. Sure, they’d hung out a little, especially once they’d established that they both had a thing for film noir, but this seemed a little _excessive_ , especially for 9:00AM in the morning. Although, judging by their attire and the smell of manly musk competing with her coffee, they’d probably been up for hours, _exercising._

“You always moan like that?” the Winter Soldier asked her.

Wait, what. That particular brand of rude was familiar. In fact, it was - _waitaminute…_

“What he _means_ is that, ah, you seem like a real coffee connoisseur. _Right_ , Bucky?” Steve interjected, alternating between giving her an awkward smile and glaring at his friend.

“Excuse him, I’m told he used to be able to talk to beautiful women, but apparently he’s lost the ability,” the Falcon, aka Sam something-or-other, inserted smoothly.

Oh, well. _That_ was another awfully familiar line. Huh. This was…not something she wanted to deal with on less than four hours of sleep. Darcy looked from hero, to hero, to _hero_ (ugh, her life) and then downed the rest of her coffee. “Lemme get this straight,” she said, turning back to her pot for a refill. “You two are my soulmates?”

“’fraid so,” Sam said, leaning back against the counter beside her and folding his _highly impressive_ arms.

Darcy gave him the side-eye, then turned to look at the Winter Soldier…who kind of looked like he wanted to eat her. In the _fun_ way. He reached out and grabbed her free hand, lifting it to press a kiss to the back that was an interesting mix of plush lips and stubbled chin. “We’ve been looking for you, doll.”

“Some of us more compulsively than others,” Sam muttered behind her.

She craned her neck to look back at him, and saw that, in spite of his words, his eyes were no less heated than Bucky’s. It was a subtler kind of warmth, but Sam’s slow smile once he saw he had her attention was, um. _Wow_.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll just leave you to it, then,” Steve said. When Darcy turned to look at him his expression was an interesting mix of elation and constipation. He gave her a genuine smile before hightailing it out of the kitchen like the hounds of hell were at his heels…or like he feared he was about to see a lot more of his best friends than he’d bargained for.

Bucky, through all of this, had yet to let go of her hand, and was in fact now idly stroking her knuckles with his thumb. She shivered, and he smirked, licking his lips. “Nope!” Darcy said, voice gone high and breathy. “I am too tired to make good decisions or a good impression, I’m going back to bed.”

“Can we join you?” the ex-assassin asked, _still making with the stroking._

Darcy blinked.

“Bucky…” Sam said, a faint note of warning entering his voice.

The ex-assassin grimaced, then shook himself, reminding Darcy of nothing so much as a dog ridding its coat of excess water. “I’m not – it’s not like that, doll, promise. Well, it’s not like that unless you’re _offering_ , I just – “ He made a grumbly sound that was closer to a growl than it was to any normal human vocalization, then used his grip on her hand to tug her closer, wrapping his metal arm around her waist loosely. “I just found you,” he said finally, “and I’m kinda findin’ it hard to believe you’ve been under my nose this whole time – “

“I am pretty short,” Darcy said diplomatically, also hoping to lighten up some of the heavy.

Bucky flashed her a smile that _totally backed up_ Steve and Sam’s claims about his once-prowess with the ladies. “You’re perfect,” he told her, “and I’m not too keen on lettin’ you outta my sight now we’ve found you.”

She considered him for a moment before craning her head around to see Sam looking at the two of them, one hand outstretched as if he wanted to join the impromptu hug as well.

Sam grinned, “Can’t say I blame him, not feeling all that different myself.”

Darcy sighed. “Couch?” she offered, “I can sleep, you can creep, and everybody’s happy.”

Bucky frowned a bit, “I don’t want to – “

“Relax,” she interrupted, juggling her coffee to one hand and running the other up his arm to squeeze his shoulder. “I am ninety percent sarcastic commentary and 10 percent political acumen, you’ll need to get used to it sooner rather than later.”

“Looking forward to it,” Sam said, finally taking that last step forward to join their huddle, wrapping his arm around Darcy’s waist in the opposite direction from Bucky’s. She leaned her head back to rest against his shoulder and smiled up at him.

When she looked back down, Bucky was staring at the two of them like they were the best things he’d ever seen. “He do that a lot?” Darcy asked, feeling a flush crawl up her throat.

“You get used to it after a while,” Sam said.

“C’mere, soldier,” she said after a moment, setting her coffee down on the counter, “lets hug it out.”

With Sam’s warm chuckles stirring the hair at her neck and Bucky’s delighted smile against her cheek, Darcy decided that Folgers didn’t know jack. _This_ was the best morning she’d ever had, and her coffee hadn’t contributed anything to this moment.

Okay, her coffee was maybe 12% of the moment. Because _coffee_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my true OTP is Bucky/hugs. "HI, MY NAME IS BUCKY AND I LIKE WARM HUGS."
> 
> Darcy Does the Galaxy = in the works.


	29. the other woman (just don't call me "Jolene")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs all of you* You guys're awesome, you know that?

Darcy did not have enough words to describe how much she had been dreading her science requirement. She’d managed to put most of it off, even had plans to schedule herself for a 3-credit internship instead of an actual _class_ for next semester, but that meant she still needed to take a course _this_ semester. After three years at Culver, she’d sussed out that Dr. Ross was probably her best bet: known for being strict in the classroom and friendly in her office, she was the prof most likely to be nice about pointing Darcy, someone not affiliated with the sciences, in the right direction… provided she threw herself on the woman’s mercy early enough in the semester to indicate that she _was_ taking the class seriously.

She just seriously sucked at the class. (Or would, she was certain of it.)

Two days before the start of the semester, Darcy found herself stalking the biology department just after lunchtime, waiting for Dr. Ross to show. She’d been pacing before the office door for a good ten minutes before she head a soft, but deliberate, coughing noise behind her and spun to find a gorgeous brunette with soft gray-blue eyes giving her an inquiring look.

“Dr. Ross?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “I mean, _hi,_ Dr. Ross, nice weather we’re having?”

Dr. Ross’s eyes went wide, then she tilted her head to oneside and smiled wryly, “Cloudy with a chance of soulmates, it appears.”

“Ha…wait, oh. Oh! _Oh my god._ ”

“I think you’d better call me, ‘Betty,’” Dr. Ross told her.

“Oh my god,” Darcy said again, then, with growing horror, “I’m in your _class._ ”

“Well, we can fix that,” Dr. Ross - _Betty?!_ \- said easily. “Would you like to step into – ah, nevermind. Would you like to grab a cup of coffee?”

“I…yeah, sure.” She attempted to find some sort of equilibrium because, _Holy unexpected soulmate, Batman!_ “You’re taking this…really well,” she said after a moment, “I mean, you just found out one of your students, or, well, someone who was _almost_ your student, is your soulmate. Isn’t that a little…jarring?”

“If I was anyone else, perhaps, but I’m _me_ , so…no.” Betty shrugged, “I have a second soulmate, and he has completely taken up my capacity for shock and surprise for…probably the next decade or so.”

“I have a second soulmate, too,” Darcy said, and, knowing the stats, continued, “do you wanna…?”

Betty rolled up her right sleeve, revealing a messy cursive: _Miss? I think you dropped this._

Darcy shook her head ruefully but, in return, rolled up _her_ right sleeve to show the other woman the blocky _HELLO_ just below the bend of her elbow. “I haven’t met them yet, but they’re obviously not the same as your guy,” she nodded toward the cursive. “Oh well, that would have made a sort of difficult situation a lot easier.”

“This isn’t a difficult situation, _trust me_.”

“Well, no, I guess not,” she smiled, a little shy now that the shock was wearing off and she was able to really take in the fact that her soulmate (one of them, at least) was a beautiful, highly educated, older woman. “You’re making this a lot easier than it could have been, although…” she grimaced as she realized –

“What?”

“Now I have to find _another_ way to get my science credits and, no offense, but I _suck_ at most sciences.”

“You know,” Betty said thoughtfully, “I have an old friend who’s looking for an intern for the spring and summer semesters...how do you feel about physics?”

She shrugged, “It’s all relative?”

That drew a melodic, sparkling laugh from her soulmate, and Darcy grinned because the sky might be cloudy, but her day was definitely looking bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Darcy's other soulmate is the Hulk. No, I'm not entirely sure how that'll work.
> 
> _** OH MY GOD YOU GUYS WITH THIS UPDATE THE VERSE HAS HIT 100,000 WORDS. ** _
> 
> _** I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO FEEL. ** _


	30. unexpected deliveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back through every review on this story and made a word doc/spreadsheet with all of the pairings that have been requested and who requested them. I will make no promises as far as WHEN I will get to all of them, or what order, but I HAVE THE INFORMATION and it is ORGANIZED.
> 
> (For the record: Wolverine, JARVIS, Deadpool and Fury are the most requested. No clue why.)
> 
> ALSO ALSO: remember forever ago when I said I would write a fic based off of the one truly horrible day I had while looking after my brother's children? This is that fic, but it is a _very very very very very very very very very very very_ loose adaptation. VERY.

Darcy had thought that she knew what _frazzled_ meant.

‘Frazzled’ was what happened when your brothers scared off your prom date two hours before the dance. ‘Frazzled’ was what happened during finals week. ‘Frazzled’ was hitting a dude with a van and then tazing him. ‘Frazzled’ was explaining to your type A parents that you were taking a gap year (or two) to follow a crazed astrophysicist on her wormhole journey/quest. ‘Frazzled’ was stopping aliens, freaking _elves_ , from destroying the world through the judicious application of physics and the careful placement of metal science sticks. 

She’d been wrong, _oh holy cats_ , she had been _so wrong_.

“You – I - _what?!_ ”

“I’ve gone into labor,” Sarah said again, this time much more slowly.

“I – you - _how?!_ ”

“Well, Darcy, when a baby has come to term within its mommy’s womb, it starts to get a little cramped and wants out almost as much as its mommy wants to serve it its eviction papers – “

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_. That was _not_ how this weekend was supposed to _go_ , Sarah. You were supposed to have the baby _next_ week, when Tom came to stay with you. You know, Tom? My brother the _nurse_. That was the deal! That was why we set the shifts up this way! I’m here for cranky get-this-kid-out-of-me-time with you and the kids, and Tom’s here for exhausted kid-is-in-process-of-vacating-and-post-birth-trauma time!”

“To be fair,” Sarah said, sounding _way_ too amused for someone about to push out twins, “this does not change the fact that Tom _will_ be here for post-birth-trauma time. Look, Darcy, all you have to do is feed the kids – I left money for Chinese – and keep ‘em entertained till bedtime. You’ve got this! Oh, and…if you could try and get ahold of your brother for me – “

“He’s _your_ husband.”

“When he’s AWOL for the labor process he’s _your brother_ ,” Sarah joked, though there was a clear note of concern in her voice.

“He picked a helluva time to have a boys’ night,” Darcy muttered.

“Preach.”

“Alright, so. Chinese. Bedtime. _Your children_. How long am I gonna be on my own again?”

“Hopefully not that long. I mean, second births are supposed to be faster – “

“But… _twins_.”

“Don’t remind me. Anyways, it’ll be fine. Few days max. I’m gonna try and call Davey again, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Darcy sighed. “Crush his fingers for me when he shows up?”

“If he heads to the house before answering his phone, kick him in the nads for me, will you?”

“With pleasure, and, ah…good luck?”

Sarah laughed, “Go entertain my spawn, I’ll be fine and I’m sure you’ll survive the experience.”

With that ringing endorsement, Darcy hung up the phone, turning to find four sets of bright, _deceptively innocent_ , blue eyes trained on her. “Your little sibs are on their way, your daddy’s in _big_ trouble, and we’re ordering Chinese tonight. If you are good and don’t make me rethink my tentative life-plan to give you cousins one day, I will let you pick _two_ movies to watch tonight, capisce?”

Junior, the oldest at ten, nodded solemnly, “Deal.”

Holly and Janet, the middle - and soon to be the _oldest_ – twins bounced up and down on the couch in glee. “Movies!” they sang out gleefully, “Popcorn!”

“Up,” Paulie demanded. At two, he was the youngest, and was adapting to his impending big-brotherhood by demanding _twice_ as many cuddles as usual. It would be a little annoying if it weren’t so darn cute.

“Alright, we’ve got a plan. This should be simple enough: first things first, lets order the Chinese.” The chorus of requests that _that_ sparked had Darcy rocking back on her heels at the sudden wave of sound. _Well,_ she thought grimly, _they say no babysitting plan survives the first engagement with the enemy…or something like that._

…

Two hours, a sippy cup, two spilled glasses of water, one tantrum, and an epic debate between the merits of _Frozen_ versus _The Croods_ later and Darcy was _never_ so glad to hear the doorbell ring. That _must_ be the Chinese. To be fair, it _had_ taken nearly an hour to come to a consensus on what would be ordered _and_ it was a Friday night, but, _still_ ….oh, well, maybe she was just spoiled from all the small orders she’d made over the years. She’d never really thought about what went into feeding four growing children, but apparently it was kind of like feeding Thor: they could pack it away _all day long._

At least they’d heard from Davey, though – turned out he’d missed guys night because he’d been called into work and had _no idea_ when they were gonna let him go. Darcy thought that his bosses must be assholes to decide that their ‘urgent assignment’ was more important than the birth of her brother’s children, but not all bosses could be as cool as Jane.

She set the three oldest off to the dining room after pausing the film (she’d split the difference in the epic debate and stuck in _Treasure Planet_ instead), and headed to the door: money fisted in one hand and Paulie balanced on the opposite hip.

What she found on her doorstep was…not what she was expecting.

“You’re not my Chinese food,” she said, nonplussed, to the big, beefy blonde guy (and she _knew_ big and beefy, re: _Thor_ ) standing on her doorstep. He looked like somebody had dragged him backwards through a hedge, a steel mill, and a garage, with a possible stop over to the local seedy bar for added ‘my bruises are not all visible, but that doesn’t mean they’re not painful’ flavor.

Big and blonde – who looked awfully familiar, actually - stared at her, shifting to one side as a redhead came to stand beside him who, although the kind of beautiful that would have had Darcy giving her a double, or possibly triple-take on the street, looked _equally_ battered.

“….and I’m guessing _you’re_ not my Chinese food either,” Darcy finished with a sigh. This was _not_ her night.

Big and blonde’s eyes kept darting between her and Paul, and he looked…shocked? Upset? _Something_. “We weren’t,” he paused, obviously struggling, “we weren’t expecting you here – “

“What he _means_ to say,” the redhead stepped in smoothly, “is that we were looking for one of our friends, but are very happy to have found you.”

Darcy’s eyes went wide and she took in the duo on her doorstep with new eyes: these were her _soulmates_ and they were both _ridiculously attractive_ but they had also clearly just been on the losing end of what looked like a pretty serious fight. She blinked rapidly, then took a closer look at the blonde one…and yeah, now that she was paying attention, she could see that that was definitely _Captain America._ “Well, fuck,” she muttered.

“Bad word,” Paul told her sternly.

“Yes, sweetie, and if you ever want Auntie Darcy to babysit you again you need to _never ever repeat it_ , okay Paulie?”

“ _Auntie_ Darcy?” Captain America - _Steve Rogers_ \- asked, looking slightly less – oh!

“Wait, you thought – hah! No, just…no.” Darcy stared at the two of them: national icon and unknown woman who, since she was with the Cap, was probably heavily into governmental matters and/or world-saving as well, chewing her lip. “Look, I’m really glad to have met you and all, but I’m looking after my brother’s kids right now while he works and his wife’s in the hospital in labor and I mean, you’re my _soulmates_ and - _wow_ , remind me to apologize for the Chinese food thing being your _soulmarks_ at some point – but I don’t know you from adam and I’m not entirely comfortable letting strangers, even, uh,” she paused, flustered, and gave Steve Rogers a little grimace to let him know that she knew who he was, “ones with such a staunch character reference into the house.”

“Aunt Darcy?” Junior’s voice floated to the door from the kitchen, “Are we gonna eat?”

“Food’s not here yet, babe,” she called back. When she turned to face her soulmates again, she found Steve had a look of understanding while the redhead looked inscrutable. “Who’re you looking for, maybe I know them?”

“Sam Wilson?”

“Oh yeah, lives next door, I think…and I’m sorry. Really. I just…” she shrugged helplessly.

Steve nodded, looking sympathetic, “I understand. When this is over, we will find you. I promise.”

 _When this is over?_ Darcy thought, feeling alarmed.

The redhead took a quick step forward and reached out, lightly touching Darcy’s arm – the one _not_ wrapped around a toddler – briefly. Something in her seemed to unwind at the touch, because the redhead – and Darcy _still didn’t know her name_ \- seemed looser, somehow, shoulders less tight. “Stay safe. Maybe…stay inside the next few days,” she said after a moment, “the streets aren’t safe right now.”

Darcy’s grip on Paulie tightened. It sounded like – and they were – “Will you? Be safe, I mean,” she said in a small voice, suddenly worried.

“As safe as we can be,” Steve said.

“We are _very_ good at what we do,” the redhead assured her.

Darcy nodded, then turned a little and set Paul down, “Go tell your sibs they can restart the movie, the food’s not here yet.” Turning back to the duo, she bit her lip, “Clearly, you two are about to go off to fight…something. Before you go, though – “ she smiled sheepishly, “what’s your name?”

“I am Natasha,” the redhead – Natasha – said, smiling.

“Steve,” Captain America offered the least-necessary introduction in the history of ever.

She grinned at him, “We’re in D.C, dude. Pretty sure it’s a felony if I don’t recognize your face.”

He looked like he was trying not to laugh. “We need to get out of the open, Nat,” he said, slanting a look to the woman at his side.

Natasha nodded, but she seemed as reluctant to leave as Darcy was to let them go. She’d _just met her soulmates_ , after all. There was a soft sound as Natasha muttered something – definitely not in English – then she was moving again, stepping fully into Darcy’s space, curving her hand along Darcy’s face and kissing her.

It was soft and smooth and instantly set a low heat simmering in Darcy’s belly. “Oh,” she murmured as Natasha stepped back, but she didn’t have time for more before Steve was replacing her. He set his hand on her hip and tugged her against him, and his kiss was quick and hard and had goosebumps racing up her arms to her neck and then down her spine.

“We _will_ come find you after,” Natasha said, voice gritty with determination and possibly…other things as well.

Darcy blinked up at Steve, still dazed from both kisses, as he pressed his lips to her forehead once before withdrawing.

“We’ll see you again,” he told her.

She watched them go, and it was a struggle not to say something trite, but oh-so-accurate like: _Come back to me._

They'd just gone around the corner of the house, out of sight, when the delivery guy arrived with the Chinese.

 _Yeah,_ Darcy thought as she paid the man, _definitely going to have to apologize for those soulmarks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cinnie requested: Steve/Darcy/Natasha.
> 
> I leave it up to you whether Steve and Natasha are each other's soulmates as well, or they just realized they had linked/matching marks and stuck together to better their chances of finding their 'mate.


	31. in which the universe (and the author) makes poor life choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a movie-based Deadpool/Darcy in "Darcy Does the Time Warp (Again?)" and it turned out not awful, so I thought I'd try my hand at a more comic-based Wade. _Never again the comic!Deadpool times._ I'm serious guys, and I NEVER put my foot down. I will not write him like this again, although I might do more Origins-based Wade at some point. WHY, you may ask? I WILL TELL YOU, CHILDREN, because writing him makes me FEEL LIKE A CRAZY PERSON.
> 
> So, to reiterate, _never again the comic!Deadpool times._

Darcy was enjoying a rare day off. She had a perfectly normal schedule, _technically_ , but between the baddies attacking and the good guys doing _stupid shit_ (Ultron, anyone?) she very rarely had a day that was both a day _off_ and a day that the Avengers were not under threat. The threat scale being what it was, most of the time she ended up staying at the Tower for her own safety. The Tower was like a weird cross between a frat house and sleepaway camp, in Darcy’s humble opinion, which was totally understandable since maybe two of the permanent residents had had anything resembling a normal childhood and/or college experience. Still, it was kind of ironic that she had one bedroom in a shady apartment building _and_ another in a literal glass tower but got more privacy in the latter. Sometimes she wondered why she was still paying for the place, since she ended up using her Tower suite most of the time _anyways_ , but it was nice to have a space that was (relatively) superhero free.

…and she was using her day off to binge-watch _Arrow_. Go figure.

She was midway through a pizza and season one (much Australian hotness) when a clatter and a thump came from the fire escape, followed closely by a hoarse voice saying, “Oh my god, I _hate_ that guy! I mean, will you look at him? That outfit, so _tacky_ , am I right?”

Darcy slowly turned her head to find a guy wearing a red-and-black catsuit of some sort lying halfway across her windowsill, bleeding onto her carpet. “You are not the sassy gay soulmate I was expecting,” she told him, internally thanking god that having a friend who quintupled in mass and turned green when he burned his microwave popcorn had altered her weird-shit-o-meter.

Catsuit dude’s mask made it difficult to decipher his expression. “Well,” he said after a moment, “this is awkward.”

“Right now it’s just strange. If you die, and then I have to explain your corpse, _then_ it becomes awkward.” Darcy stood, watching him watch her – or, at least, she _thought_ he was watching her, the mask didn’t exactly have slits for his eyes (which made her wonder how he could see) – “I have a first-aid kit?” she offered. “It’s not quite superhero grade, but, uh, there’s probably something in there that kills germs?”

He crawled the rest of the way into her apartment, collapsing onto her (bloodied) carpet with a rough chuckle. “Oh, froufrou, I may be fast and strong and fresh from the fight, but I’m no _hero_ ,” he snorted.

Well, _that_ was a bit worrisome. “That wasn’t a ‘no,’ so we can discuss it after I’m sure you’re not gonna bleed out onto my carpet,” she told him, darting through her kitchen area to the bathroom beyond it. The first-aid kit was one of those box-things full of gauze, band-aids, all those little bits and bobs for everyday injuries…this wasn’t really either one of those descriptors, as she’d never had to patch up a super _anything_ in her apartment before and – judging by the amount of blood on her floor (goodbye deposit!) – ‘injury’ was probably too mild of a word.

When she returned to her living area she found that the guy had shifted a little, stretching out on his back and linking his fingers behind his head: a rather nonchalant position for a dude covered in that much blood.

“I would ask where it hurts, but in my experience you people tend to have ridiculous pain tolerances,” Darcy said, pausing a few feet beyond arm’s reach.

He cocked his head to one side and, she was pretty sure, frowned, “ _You people?_ What do you mean _you people?_ ”

“People who wear skin-tight costumes in bright colors, occasionally with an option on masks or capes.”

“No capes!” he said immediately.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “You’ve got good taste in movies, awesome. Now, about those injuries?”

He brought his hands out from behind his head and made exaggerated jazz fingers, “They’re all gone! It’s like magic!”

“Magic, or an accelerated healing factor?”

“That is some…suspiciously specific terminology, young lady,” he said, wagging a finger at her in admonishment. “Who did you say you worked for?”

“I didn’t,” she said, taking a few steps back to lean a hip against her couch, “but then again, neither did _you_...”

“True,” he said, nodding. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he jumped to his feet _really quickly_ for someone whose blood was wet enough to _still_ be causing the carpet to make gross squelching noises (it was in the forefront of her mind because _ew_ ). “I am Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool. Merc with the Mouth to my friends and employers, _Ahh!_ and _Oh god no!_ to my enemies.”

Darcy wasn’t sure whether she should be laughing or running. “Wait, I’ve heard of you,” she realized. “The Tower went on lockdown last month because of you! I missed a marathon of ‘Say Yes to the Dress!’”

“The Tower?” he asked. “What kind of Tower? Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your – “

“The Avengery kind.”

“Oh, right, I’ve heard the place has a rather _stark_ decorating style.”

“Oh my god,” Darcy said, rubbing a hand over her face, “that was _awful_.”

“I aim to torment.”

There was a pause while they both considered each other.

“So…were you _hoping_ for a sassy gay friend? Because I can tell you that your hair has never looked better, and also that you should totally get over that mopey Hamlet…” he said, rocking back and forth on his toes a little, and giving the impression that if he _had_ pocket, he’d have his hands in them in the classic ‘aw shucks, ma’am’ pose.

“I don’t really know what I was hoping for?” Darcy shrugged. “What were _you_ expecting your soulmate to be?”

“Honestly? I always thought my soulmate would be the sentient lovechild of a dinosaur and a pile of radioactive sludge, or maybe a time travelling super agent, and I once had this dream about twins… but, you know, you look…nice?”

She was not sure what to do with that. “Um, thanks?”

“Much saner than I expected,” he hastened on, and she got the distinct impression that he was trying to reassure her.

The fact that he’d expected his _perfect match_ would be _insane?_ Not particularly reassuring.

“I was expecting there’d be more sex,” he muttered, apparently to himself (?), looking off to the side, “isn’t that the point of these things? Make your favorite characters make whoopie?”

“ _What?_ ”

Wade – like hell she was gonna call him ‘Deadpool’ – took a step forward and grabbed one of her hands, clasping both of his around it. “Look,” he said, leaning over a little so the white ovals that indicated where his eyes might be were roughly level with _her_ eyes, “I like you, you seem nice…there’s not a lot of nice in my life. I have issues (and runs, and arguing writers), so it’s probably gonna be best for all concerned if you ignore about half of what comes out of my mouth. I mean, the other half of what I say will be vitally important and plot-relevant, but I’ll yell that at the top of my lungs or something so you’ll know the difference.”

Darcy blinked rapidly. “That sounds…fair?”

“Alright, good,” he let go of her hands and stepped back again. “So, what now?”

“Well, the Avengers obviously don’t know you’re in town, or else I’d be on lockdown right now. It’s my day off, too, so…I guess…if you promise not to do anything that would get their attention, we could get some food together?”

“Like a date?” Wade asked skeptically.

“Like a date.”

“Hmmmm…” he stroked his chin thoughtfully, “and what were you thinking we’d _do_ on this… _date?_ ”

“I don’t know? Eat Mexican food, finish my marathon,” she hooked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the TV.

“Mexican food and DC? _You are the best soulmate ever_ ,” he told her fervently.

It was the start of a beautiful…something.

“Your ending narration is weak.”

Shut up, Wade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not writing out notes on all the (many many _many_ ) reference jokes that are in this chapter. Suffice to say, if you recognize it - or if it's even _vaguely familiar_ , it's probably a reference. Or maybe I'm just _unintentionally_ making references and this is my way of covering my tracks and making you think I know comic canons better than I actually do.
> 
> YOU'LL NEVER KNOW.
> 
> ^ _See, this is what writing comic!Deadpool does to a person! NEVER AGAIN._


	32. old-fashioned approach (more direct than you'd expect), part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **HEY, YOU, READERS.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Alright, so, now that I have your attention, this is a porny sequel to that other ficlet that was porny (and also kind of dub-con-y). This takes place at some nebulous point in the future, wherein Steve and Darcy have an established relationship and Steve is rather dom-y. It's not quite BDSM, but there are shades. So, that's the warning. HEREIN BE SEXIN'S AND SOME MASTURBATION. OKAY? OKAY.
> 
> I don't usually write porn, but when I do, I warn y'all.

Darcy was horny, and also kind of annoyed.

Steve had been gone on a mission for _three weeks_. During the entirety of those three weeks, he had been completely off the grid: no contact, none _at all_. No video calls, no _phone_ calls, not even texting had been allowed while he went on his latest merry jaunt to the farthest corners of the world, smashing Hydra bases and wreaking havoc. It wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last, and – generally speaking – she understood. This was part and parcel of being the soulmate of a superhero, a ridiculous do-gooder, and she accepted that. It’s just…he’d been gone for _three weeks_ and now that he was back, he wasn’t making up for lost time, _oh no_ , he was doing goddamn _paperwork._

She should be used to this, too. Steve was somewhat anal retentive about his paperwork, liked having it done and out of the way so it didn’t nag at him. Truthfully, she was _more_ used to him having most – or all – of it done by the time he returned because he didn’t like flying in planes. Said it reminded him of that last flight before the ice: he would never be comfortable about the idea of allowing himself to be unconscious in an aircraft ever again. _This_ time he’d been occupied with _flying_ the plane, because Nat had broken a collarbone on the last leg of the mission and Sam, though rated for the fancy-ass wings, had not yet earned an _official_ flight license.

The combination: three weeks gone, and him doing a buttload of paperwork now that he was back? _Frustrating._

“Are you almost done?” she asked, trying to keep the whine out of her voice.

“Nearly,” he said absently, not even looking up from his Starkpad. He was sitting at his desk, which was rather adorable, really, since – in Darcy’s opinion – the whole point of a portable computer apparatus was the ability to take work to more comfortable environs. It had been, perhaps, a poor life choice on his part to put his desk in the living room of their shared quarters. She knew it was because he liked sharing space with her, even if they weren’t actively doing things together, and while she appreciated the sentiment…right now, it just made it harder for her to resist the urge to distract him.

“You know, it’s pretty late. And it’s a Friday. Nobody who wasn’t there for the debrief is even gonna look at that report before Monday,” she couldn’t help but point out. She didn’t look at him while she spoke, trying not to show how invested she was in getting him to _put the damn Starkpad down_ , damnit.

“I’d rather have it done, Darcy, you know that. I didn’t exactly have plans for the night,” he reminded her. Which, fair enough, technically speaking they hadn’t been expected back until Tuesday, but Nat’s injury had cut the mission short, concern for her causing Steve to allow the B team to take over interrogations of the Hydra agents they’d caught in favor of ferrying her home.

“Maybe _you_ didn’t have plans,” Darcy muttered, staring at the ceiling.

“What was that?”

Stupid serum-enhanced senses.

“Did I miss something?”

And crap, that was his genuinely-confused-verging-on-concerned voice. “No, you didn’t miss anything. Sorry, I’m just cranky,” she admitted.

She could tell from the sound of his voice that he’d turned his head to look at her, even though she couldn’t see him from her supine position on the couch. “Is something wrong?” he asked, still making with the worried-voice.

Ugh, now she felt bad. Which was just making her _more_ frustrated. Now she was sex-frustrated _and_ regular-frustrated. Not the best combination on her, or anyone, really. “No, Steve, I’m fine. It’s fine,” she said, resigned. “Just…finish up.”

“Darcy…” aaaaaand there went Commander Rogers-voice. Fuck it.

She sat up, twisting on the couch so she could face him. It was odd to be looking at him like this, because he had his tell-me-what’s-wrong face on, the you’re-being-stubborn version, which was…kind of stern, actually. The stern face combined with his position behind his desk was hitting all sorts of authority-kink buttons that Darcy hadn’t known she’d had before becoming involved with Steve. Again, _not helping_ with the horny problem.

“I can’t help with whatever it is unless you _tell_ me,” he pointed out reasonably.

Darcy grimaced. “Steve, you were gone for _three weeks_ and now you’re doing paperwork.”

He paused, obviously waiting for more, and when nothing else followed, frowned. “That’s it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I would really, _really_ rather that you were doing _me_ on that desk instead.”

Steve swallowed hard, the tops of his ears flushing red. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_. So, again, _how close_ are you to being _done?_ ”

“I have another five or so incidents to report,” he admitted slowly.

Since that translated to _at least_ another half hour, she groaned and slumped back down on the couch.

“…sorry?”

Darcy raised her hand above the back of the couch and flicked her wrist, “It’s fine. I get it. Efficiency is one of your things. I’ll just sit here, thinking of all the things I’d rather you were doing _efficiently._ ” She paused for a moment, “Like me, for instance.”

“Yes, Darcy, I understood what you were saying,” he said dryly, but his slightly rougher voice told her he was not unaffected by her plight.

She settled back down on the couch, linking her fingers over her stomach and going back to staring at the ceiling. She supposed she could turn on the television, or grab a book or something, but, realistically, she knew that nothing would _really_ hold her attention until she took care of her _problem_. Darcy also _supposed_ that she could head to the bedroom and get started all by herself, but she’d had three _weeks_ of nothing but her vibrator and her hand and he was sitting _not ten feet away_ , damnit.

Although, technically speaking, she _could_ get started and just wait for him to finish his work so he could finish _her_. That idea had potential. Of course, if she headed to the bedroom _now_ he would know _exactly_ what she intended. She didn’t want to make him feel _bad_ for being good at his job, per se, she thought, unlinking her fingers and sliding one hand down to toy with the button on her jeans, so it was best she just did this right here.

Quietly, of course.

Darcy made a ‘hmming’ sound to cover the soft ‘zhrrr’ noise that her zipper made as she slowly slid it down, pretending she was stretching, instead of, well, undoing her fly. She wriggled a little to slip her pants a bit below her hips for easier access, then slid her hand into her panties. She was already wet, so it was rather easy to gather up a bit of that slickness and start a slow, gentle glide around her clit – not quite touching it, just circling around it.

It was nice, not enough to really get her going, just a gentle tease while she waited.

After a minute or so, though, she wanted a bit more, so she slid her other hand down, slipping the first two knuckles of her middle finger up into her core and just…letting it rest there while she kept up the easy circling with her other hand.

“Darcy. What are you doing?”

The sound of Steve’s voice startled her, sending her finger across her clit instead of around it. The sensation lent her voice a telltale breathy quality when she replied: “Um…nothing?”

There was a creak, and then the sound of footsteps…and then Steve was leaning over the back of the couch, eyes hot and expression dark. “This doesn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me,” he told her, his voice a bit lower than normal, but very disconcertingly _even_. She knew that tone. That tone could be either very very good, or very very bad (but either way, was always very very _enjoyable_ ).

She considered and then discarded several responses before settling on a winning smile. “I got bored?”

Steve shut his eyes and took a very deep breath. “I think you need a lesson in the values of patience.”

Darcy squinted at him. “If this is about to devolve into one of those long debates about the effects of television on the modern generation, Steve, let me just say that I am _not in the mood_. Also? _Three weeks_ , Steve. A girl has _needs_.”

He smiled, and the wolfish edge to it had her heart rate quickening. “No debates, and I _know_ you have needs, sweetheart, but I only had five reports left. Not exactly a long wait.”

“You only _had_ five reports left?” she asked hopefully. “So you’re done?”

Steve shook his head slowly. “I’ve got one more,” he said, holding out a hand to her and waiting until she removed a hand from her pants and stuck it in his. He pulled her up and then – because he was Steve and ridiculous – easily reached out and lifted her over the back of the couch. Once they were on the same side, he pulled her towards him, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Are you saving the last report for later?”

She felt his smile against the skin of her jaw. “No.”

“Then what - ?” she jolted, but held still as he swiftly and efficiently (it was his thing, seriously) unbuttoned her cardigan and slipped it off her shoulders, and then proceeded to divest her of the rest of her clothing. She stood there, naked and nonplussed and waiting for an explanation…but he just smiled and led her back to his desk.

“I’m going to finish my report,” he told her, sitting down again.

“And I’m going to…stand here and look pretty?”

“No, you’re going to _sit_ here and practice your patience,” he said. “You know, ‘Hurry up and wait.’”

“Are you freaking – “ she yelped as she was abruptly lifted and then dropped onto his lap, facing towards his desk and away from him, bracing her arms against the edge of it to balance herself as she shifted precariously on his knees. “Seriously, Steve? Bad enough I have to wait, but now I have to wait _and watch?_ ”

“I don’t expect you to watch, sweetheart,” he leaned forward and breathed into her ear.

She shivered. “Then what _do_ you expect?”

His hands settled on her hips, pulling her back towards his chest. “I expect you to hold still,” he told her, just as her lower back came into contact with a highly recognizable and _very naked_ bulge. Sneaky fucker must have unzipped his pants while she was distracted! He lifted her up, leaning back so he could more easily align her and then – then – He very slowly, very carefully lowered her down, letting the slick she’d already gathered and spread in her earlier play ease his way right in.

“Oh!” she breathed, she was still tight and he wasn’t exactly small, but _god_ it felt so _good!_ After three weeks, it felt like fucking _heaven:_ the stretch, the fullness…and he wasn’t even fully sheathed yet. She held her breath as those last few inches slid home, and then she released it on a sigh, going boneless against him.

“Perfect,” he murmured, “stay just like that.”

“I - _seriously?_ ” Darcy whined. Every bit of her felt lit up, on edge and hyperaware of him: the roughness of his jeans under her thighs, the heat of his chest against her back, the rasp of his five-o-clock shadow against her shoulder, and his cock, hard and thick and filling her _perfectly_ …and he wanted her to _sit still?_ While he finished his _report?_ Was he fucking insane?! “Seriously, Steve, just – “

He twisted a hand in the hair at her nape, gently tilting her head to the side. “If you stay still and quiet and let me finish my report, I promise I will let you come at least four times before we go to sleep,” he said evenly.

“…and if I don’t?” she asked, voice gone thin and reedy.

Steve huffed out a laugh, dropping his chin to rub it along the length of her neck. “If you don’t,” he murmured, “then you’ll only get to come _once_ …and Darcy? I wasn’t planning to let you sleep for quite a while.” He pressed a quick kiss to her shoulder. “I missed you too,” he sighed, and then nipped her. When he spoke again, his voice was barely there, a rumble almost more felt than heard, “…and you’re not the only one with _needs_ , sweetheart.”

Darcy shook her head until he removed his hand from her hair and then leaned back against his shoulder, trying to settle herself into a comfortable position. Once she’d found one she thought (hoped?) she could maintain, she took a deep breath, released it on a seven count, and then said, “Steve?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Write your fucking report.”

He laughed, which, with him positioned as he was did…interesting things to her insides. “Yes, dear.”

Darcy kept her eyes closed, trying to focus on the soft taps and faint squeaking sound of the stylus moving over the Starkpad, instead of on Steve, but it was hard - _difficult_ \- and she found herself digging her fingernails into her thighs in an attempt to distract herself. It was no good, though, she soon found herself mulling over his earlier threat (promise?) and debating the merits of both of her ‘choices.’

On the one hand, she _really_ wanted to come. Several times. On the other…well, there had been a few times that - for one reason or another - Steve had decided that edging would be the order of the day. Those few times had been…memorable, to say the least, if a bit awkward in the days afterward when she had to pretend she was recovering from a sore throat instead of admitting that she’d gone hoarse begging for release. Stupid serum kept him from having the same experience when she turned the tables – which she did, with absolute _relish_.

But she really, _really_ wanted to spend some quality time with his tongue tonight, and it wasn’t an option he would allow if he was going to keep to his ‘only once’ promise. Super serum did a body good, and, well the tongue was a _muscle_. It had been enhanced along with all his other muscles, and Steve’s was strong, and dexterous, and _did not get tired_.

Darcy wanted to squirm just thinking about it, but she held still, except for a few involuntary flutters.

She froze for a moment, wondering if he was going to count that as ‘movement’ but he seemed engrossed in his report. In fact…

She clenched a little, lightly and briefly, around him, and then waited.

No overt response: the stylus kept squeaking, and he _seemed_ not to have noticed.

Darcy got an idea. A terrible, awful, _wonderful_ idea…

If she didn’t keep any sort of rhythm…

And kept it soft enough to pass off as reflexive twitches…

She dug her nails into her thighs hard enough to leave tiny white crescent-marks, and then set her plan in motion. Darcy held still, _very_ still, keeping her breathing even and meditative, her muscles as loose and relaxed as she could, save for the soft, irregular squeezing of her Kegel muscles.

God, it felt _so_ good. She was tight enough, though relaxing a bit more as time passed, that she could feel every inch of him, but when she bore down _just a little_ , he just barely pressed against that spot that set off sparks down her spine. Darcy took a slow breath, unable to keep from picturing how she wanted this to _really_ be happening: maybe with his hands at her hips, slowly lifting her and letting her sink back down, nice and easy. Maybe with her bent over the desk, his fingers laced with hers while he held her down, pounding into her hard and fast. Maybe on the couch even, if he’d just climbed over the back, onto her, and replaced her fingers with that strong, flexible, _wonderful_ tongue…

Darcy felt herself getting wetter around him, and wondered idly if her slick had slid down to his jeans yet. Sweet, hot pleasure was bubbling through her lower belly now, and though she was keeping to her plan of soft, arrhythmic movements, she didn’t think she could stop at this point, even if she wanted to.

She loved those times when _he_ couldn’t stop. When she’d pushed him over the edge somehow and he was all teeth-bared and single-minded in his pursuit of pleasure, grimly determined to drag her over the edge with him by any means necessary, the desire just this side of _vicious_... Darcy bit her lip hard, but kept up that deep, even breathing by sheer force of will.

Her hips kept wanting to hitch, to move up or forward or back or _anywhere_ so long as she was _moving_. God, how could he _still_ be working on that report? If she wasn’t fully confident in her appeal, she might be concerned. As it stood, she knew that was just him being a goddamn _shit_ , and he was good at it.

Darcy’s eyes shot open as she felt herself starting to hit the homestretch. Shit. Shit. This would _definitely_ count. He would count this, and she _didn’t want this to be her ‘one.’_ Fuck. _Fuck_ …but she didn’t think she could stop.

She tried to hold still, tried to relax _everything_ , but it was out of her control. Her internal muscles were clenching, working to reach the climax she’d been tiptoeing towards since she started this game on her couch five – ten? – fifteen? – minutes ago. It was inevitable. Darcy locked her arms, her knees, and tried to hold as still as she could as the orgasm bubbled up and through her, muscles clamping down on Steve’s length like they’d missed him too, and were as loathe to part with him as the rest of her.

It was only as she started coming down from her high that she realized that the stylus was no longer tapping or squeaking and that Steve had gone as still as she had tried to be just a few moments ago.

“Darcy,” he said disbelievingly, “did you just…?”

She cleared her throat, but it was no good, her voice was low and throaty the way it _always_ was after an orgasm. “Yes.”

Steve set the stylus and Starkpad down on the desk, wrapped his arms around her middle (pinning her arms to her sides), buried his face in her neck, and started chuckling. “I can’t believe you – “ he broke off, hissing as she clenched down on him as _hard as she could_.

“Steve Grant Rogers, if you count that as my ‘one,’ I swear to god, I will put glitter on _all the things you love._ ”

“Darcy – “

“ _Including_ myself. That body-glitter shit. The stuff that never fully washes off, that shit that keeps popping up _weeks_ later.”

“ _Darcy_ \- “

“So, really,” she went on, slightly more relaxed and _much_ less frustrated now that she’d come, “it’s best for all parties if you just take me in the bedroom and give me those three weeks-worth of orgasms that you owe me.”

“Three weeks?” Steve asked, clearly amused. “You want me to make up for three weeks in _one night?_ ”

“I _think,_ ” Darcy said, tightening around him again, “that you should,” she rocked her hips, “give it,” another clench, “the old college try.”

“Well,” Steve mused, his quickened breathing at odds with his calm voice, “I feel duty-bound to remind you that I never _did_ go to college – “

“Three weeks is a long time,” she said thoughtfully, “but I’m pretty sure I haven’t run out of batteries yet, if you’re not feeling _up_ to it.”

There was a very telling silence.

“I mean, I know you don’t count those years in the ice, but if you’re _feeling your age_ after that long mission, I suppose I’ll understand.”

Steve slowly unwrapped his arms from around her waist; one sliding low to curl under her thighs while the other went back up into her hair, gently wrapping most of it up into his fist. He stayed silent, though. Ominously so.

Darcy was past the point of caring. “I’m just saying – “

“Sweetheart.” Commander Rogers voice was back.

“Yes, dear?” she asked sweetly, feeling her heart start to race.

He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. “Did you have any plans this weekend?” he asked curiously.

Darcy frowned, “Lunch with some of the girls on Sunday, why?”

“You’re going to have to cancel,” he told her quietly.

“Oh, really? And why is that?”

“Because, _sweetheart_ , even if I’m done with you by then – which is highly unlikely – by that point I doubt you’ll be able to walk.”

Darcy snorted, twisting around to look at – oh.

Steve was smiling at her, softly, sweetly, but his eyes…his eyes were _burning_. She’d heard the phrase before, but she didn’t think she’d understood it until now. His eyes were black fire, with a thin ring of blue, and Darcy gulped _hard_.

“In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “you’re probably going to want to call in sick on Monday. Maybe Tuesday, too. You know,” he continued, “since we weren’t supposed to be back until Tuesday, I’m not expected to start planning the next raid for even a few more days after _that._ ” Steve grinned then, but it was that teeth-bared and single-minded look that she didn’t usually get to see until after several _hours_ of foreplay.

Darcy whimpered.

He leaned in and nuzzled at her throat. “I’m going to miss that sound,” he told her sincerely.

“Miss it?” she asked faintly.

“Mm-hm. If I haven’t fucked all your screams out by the end of the night, I’ll _let_ you put glitter on every inch of my suit.”

“That sounds…” _fantastic, phenomenal, fabulous_ , “fair.”

Steve nodded magnanimously, “I’m glad you think so.” He carefully unwound his fingers from her hair, carding them through it on their way down to wrap around her hip. He lifted her up and off, setting her down beside his chair on legs that were trembling from the orgasm that she’d just had, and from the ones she was anticipating having. Steve sat there, holding onto her until he was sure she could support herself, then gave her a little shove in the direction of the kitchen: “Go get us a couple of bottles of Gatorade on your way to the bedroom. We’ll need them.”

“And what will _you_ be doing?” she couldn’t help but ask.

He simply smirked: “Finishing my report.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, guys. I sat on this story for more than a week and made Rainne read it twice because SEX. Working on more of everything (I'm not doing NaNoWriMo, I'm doing FINISH YOUR SHIT Month), but life has been…lively. ILU ALL, THOUGH. Seriously, you guys are lovely and some of you have made me cry from your lovely reviews. So, yeah.


	33. iPod shuffle (life is the dance floor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "The Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum)," by The Cheeky Girls  
> 2\. "Falling Off the Edge of the World," by Heaven & Hell  
> 3\. "All Rise," by Blue  
> 4\. "Breakaway," by Kelly Clarkson  
> 5\. "Some Day My Prince Will Come," from _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not posting the pairings at the beginning of this chapter because at least one of these ficlets is probably a LOT funnier if you don't know what, exactly, is going on when you go into it. DON'T CHECK THE TAGS, EITHER. THAT IS TOTALLY CHEATING.
> 
> That said, this is an attempt to clear out some cobwebs again, because the last few weeks have been rough for a whole host of reasons that I don't particularly want to go into here. For THIS iPod shuffle, I did the whole "ten random songs from your iTunes" thing, and then I entered all of the pairings y'all have requested (the list is not up to date, but it is freaking _extensive_ ) into a generator and then took the first ten or so and stuck them with the song that came up. This has resulted in some… really odd combinations.

**1\. “The Cheeky Song (Touch My Bum),” by The Cheeky Girls, post-CA:tWS**

“Thor just texted me,” Jane reported. “He says they’ll be here within the hour and they’ll be _hungry_.”

Darcy nodded decisively. “Right then. JARVIS?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis?”

“Can you play my ‘Getting Shit Done’ playlist through the main speakers in the common area? I’ve got a lot of shit to do – “

“ _We’ve_ got a lot of shit to do,” Jane corrected her.

“You sure? You’re almost done with the thingy with that doohickey that does the sparkle thing.”

The corner of the scientist’s mouth twitched at the vague description, she’d always found Darcy’s unique shorthand entertaining. “I’m sure.”

“Cool, then. JARVIS?”

“Commencing playlist, Miss.”

“Awesome.” Darcy leapt to her feet, dragging Jane up with her, “And now, we work!”

They’d actually gotten most of the work done beforehand. This latest fight with Loki had necessitated calling in extra help from Asgard and, as they’d learned from close proximity to Thor, standard post-battle Asgardian etiquette involved a lot of singing, eating, and drinking. Since there was no way Darcy was going to help with the first, she’d resolved to make sure the latter two were _perfect_. She and Jane had ordered in a ton of cold cuts (not a literal ton, but close to), and a wide assortment of fruits, veggies, and assorted dips. Now that they knew the time was at hand, so to speak, they could order hot foods as well, but there was no telling who would get there first so they needed to prep what they had while they waited for the rest.

Plus, fruits and veggies kept better when kept _whole_.

It had all started out as a nice way of saying ‘thank you’ to the Asgardian support, but it had _become_ a way to sort of introduce themselves to everyone. The dynamic science lady-duo had only moved into the Tower recently. Jane had headed there first while Darcy wrapped up a few things with her family, and even met a few.

“Captain America is actually smaller than he looks on TV,” Jane reported.

“You only think that because you have Thor to compare him to,” Darcy contradicted.

“… Point,” the smaller woman conceded, a dreamy smile drifting over her face.

“Ew. Stop that. You can’t wear your getting-awesome-nookie face while I am _nookieless_ ,” she pouted.

Jane frowned, “I thought you had that thing with Ian?”

“Key word being ‘had,’” she sighed. “The whole long-distance thing, you know? I have _needs_.”

“And no word on…” Jane tapped her arm meaningfully.

Darcy slid her ubiquitous long sleeves up, revealing a colorful patchwork of short phrases and some full sentences. There were two lines of some sort of runic script, one of which matched the one adorning Jane, the other a little more angular. The other six ( _six_ ) were in English, thank god. “Nada,” she grouched, “which, seriously, how is that even statistically _possible?_ I am twenty-six and I have _eight soulmates_ and I have yet to meet a _single one_. It’s bullshit.”

“I think that you have to throw out all possibility of finding accurate and helpful statistical data when you’re such a glaring outlier,” Jane pointed out, displaying her wonderful tact with the subject. Eight soulmates was a little odd by anyone’s reckoning in a world where most people had three or fewer, but Jane had always been supportive. “Plus,” she went on, “one of them is definitely Asgardian. So, there’s that.”

“Maybe I should show it to Thor,” Darcy muttered, staring at the shiny gold (and that was not hyperbole) runic script that curved from just above her elbow to her wrist. “No, really, he might recognize the handwriting, right?”

“Worth a shot.”

“Yeah…” she sighed gustily. “Okay, we’re basically done, right?”

“Yes…?”

“JARVIS?”

“All orders placed, Miss.”

“Cool, you know what that means?”

Jane frowned, then started shaking her head, “No.”

“Jaaaaaane.”

“ _No_.”

“Please?” she asked, widening her eyes and giving the other woman her best beseeching look.

The brunette visibly wavered, then capitulated with a resigned: “I’m picking the playlist.”

Darcy grimaced, “But your music is _weird._ ”

“My music is _not_ weird!”

“Fine, fine – DANCE PARTY!”

And so, when the exhausted Avengers (plus Asgardians) arrived back in the Tower, they were greeted with a sizable spread and two dancing brunettes. Clint, Natasha, Sam, Steve, and Bucky were first off the elevator. Tony had wanted to ‘put his armor to bed.’ Bruce and Bucky had tagged along with him: the one to ensure that the engineer didn’t start working on fixing it instead, the other for a speedy tune-up to his arm. Thor and his fellows were waiting for the next elevator because even sizable as the Tower’s were, that many armed and armored fighters in that close of a proximity was not particularly comfortable.

“The hell is this?” Clint asked, nonplussed, when unfamiliar music greeted them as soon as the elevator doors opened.

“It is a Dance Party, sir,” JARVIS informed them. “Dr. Foster and her assistant, Miss Lewis, have been entertaining themselves while they waited.”

“Oh, well, Thor will be excited,” Steve said, nodding. “What is this _song?_ ”

Sam, who was bobbing his head along to the music, grinned. “Club pop not part of your culture education, Cap?”

“Not yet.”

“We’ll fix that,” Natasha assured him. “Later, though. I’m hungry, and tired. Mostly hungry, though.”

“If I may,” JARVIS cut in, “the ladies have put together a meal for you.”

“Nice of ‘em,” Steve said, smiling. “Where are they?”

“Kitchen would be my bet,” Clint said, already strolling on ahead. He paused in the wide archway that led to the kitchen, grinning at the sight of the two women ‘breaking it down.’ One was slighter than the other, and doing a creditable robot, the other was – to put it politely – stacked, and shaking her hips in her friend’s direction (and also, incidentally, Clint’s as well) as the song instructed the listener to touch the singer’s bum. “This a private party,” he asked, shouting a little to be heard over the music, “or can anyone join?”

Instantly, both women froze, turning to him. Stacked made a throat-cutting gesture, glaring at the ceiling, and JARVIS immediately shut it off. “Well,” she said, obviously flustered, “now that you’re here I guess the _real_ party can start.”

Clint stared at her, mouth hanging open and frozen in shock. “YOU!”

“Me?”

He jerked his shirt up, revealing dark purple lettering in a script Darcy immediately recognized. “ _YOU!_ ” he said again, more emphatically.

“Huh,” the second woman said. “What are the odds?”

“What’s all the commotion about?” Steve asked, coming up behind Clint in the doorway.

“THAT is my soulmate!” Clint said, pointing at Stacked dramatically. “Uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m Darcy Lewis, it’s nice to meet you,” she said to Clint, looking a little dazed. “Uh,” she turned to flash the Cap a bright smile, “it’s nice to meet _both_ of you, I guess.”

Steve looked at her intently, “You guess?”

“Oh! Oh, _shit._ ”

Jane’s jaw dropped, “No, seriously?”

“Wait, wait,” Clint turned to Steve, “you too?”

The super-soldier nodded, never once taking his eyes off of his _soulmate_. “Uh. Yeah, she’s… she’s my fourth. The only one I hadn’t met yet.”

“You’ve got _four?_ ” Darcy squeaked.

Jane snorted, “Like you’ve got room to talk.”

“No, no,” she turned to the scientist, “not _that_ , just, maybe his other three are mine, too?”

“How many soulmates do you _have?!_ ” Clint asked.

“Eight,” Darcy said succinctly.

“Eight?” Steve echoed, looking shocked.

“Eight,” she repeated, “and you two are the first I’ve met, so if you have any idea who _these_ are – “

Sam entered the room just in time to see Darcy shoving her sleeves up, revealing forearms covered in writing. “Wow,” he said admiringly, “the universe must love you.”

Darcy stared at him. “Yeah,” she said after a moment, “I’m starting to think that.”

He froze. “You – “

“Yes, me. Apparently.”

“We need to get the rest of the team up here,” Steve said authoritatively.

“The rest of the _team?_ ” Darcy repeated. “You mean – “

“Yes.”

“Jane? I think I need to sit down.”

“Well, there aren’t any chairs in the kitchen, so we should probably move this party to the living room,” Jane said practically.

“Right. Fabulous idea. You’re a good friend.”

“We’ll need all that room,” she said, biting her lip to suppress hilarity. “You know. For your soulmates.”

“… I kind of hate you right now.”

“Darcy, I kind of hate _you_ right now,” Jane said, staring admiringly at Sam and Clint, who were both still frozen in the doorway. Steve had headed away, back down the hall – probably to find the rest of the Avengers. “Your soulmates are _hot!_ ”

The two men grinned at her.

“Not as hot as Thor,” she amended, loyal to the bone, “but still. The universe really _does_ love you, Darcy!”

“Living room? Now?” she pleaded. “Uh,” she turned to her soulmates, “you’re coming, right? _To the living room, I mean!_ ”

“Sure,” Sam said, nodding agreeably.

“Wouldn’t miss this show for the _world_ ,” Clint agreed, smirking.

The four made their way to the living room, where Darcy collapsed into an overstuffed armchair. Jane perched herself on one arm of the chair, petting the younger woman’s hair soothingly while the two men stationed themselves on a loveseat, both staring at their soulmate.

“So,” Jane said, “how many soulmates do _you_ have?”

“I’m one of Steve’s,” Sam offered, “along with… nah, don’t wanna spoil the surprise.”

Darcy looked up from her careful study of her arms to give him a dirty look.

“I’ve got two platonic bonds,” Clint said. “Both of them have already met their other matches, though.”

“Assuming that Steve’s other two are also Darcy’s that still leaves one more English-speaker unaccounted for,” Jane said, a speculative gleam in her eye.

“English-speaker?” Clint said. “You have soulmates that don’t speak English?”

Darcy whimpered.

“She has soulmates who speak All-Speak,” Jane said, “but she hasn’t met them yet, so far as we know.”

That brought the younger woman’s head up and around. “You don’t _really_ think – “

“Stranger things have happened,” was the scientist’s reply, with an expansive gesture towards the duo on the couch.

“Point,” Darcy conceded.

There was the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hallway, then Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three bounded into the room.

“Jane!” Thor cried, Asgardian speed carrying him across the room before anyone else could so much as blink. He swept her up into his arms, and into a kiss, just as quickly.

Darcy turned her back on the sight (and tried to ignore the _sounds_ ) of her boss and friend’s enthusiastic reunion. “So,” she said, squinting at the four remaining aliens, “it has been brought to my attention that two of you might be keeping something from me…?”

Volstagg snorted, and then turned his back on the assembled to head back towards the kitchen (and the food).

Sif cocked her head to one side, then reached out and slugged Fandral in the arm. “Did I not _tell you?_ ”

“Aye,” he agreed, rubbing at the injured appendage, “you did.”

Hogun took a step forward, “On our last meeting we were moments from battle – “

“And as soon as one battle ended, we were required to fight another,” Fandral cut in.

“Loki’s machinations separated us then, but now they have brought us together once more.”

“You _and_ you?” Darcy said, looking from the two aliens to her arms and back again. “Jesus Fucking Christ.”

“You know,” Sam put in, looking decidedly amused, “some religious scholars have put forth the idea that all twelve apostles were actually Jesus’s soulmates.”

Darcy very slowly turned her head towards him, “Are you suggesting that I am _Christlike?_ ”

He grinned and gave her an obvious once-over. “I’m definitely feeling some awe, maybe a little reverence even,” he said, eyes slipping down to her cleavage very briefly before shifting back to her face. The subtle heat in his eyes was, in turn, making her feel rather _warm_.

“My lady?” Fandral questioned, frowning at Sam.

“Oh, right. Soulmates meet… other soulmates. You already know each other, but now you also know that I’m your mutual. Um. Yeah.”

“Darcy has eight soulmates, total,” Clint informed them.

Hogun blinked, Fandral gasped, and Sif doubled over laughing.

“You are marvelously gifted,” Fandral pronounced after a moment. “To have such a heart… truly, we are blessed to be among your chosen.”

Darcy flushed. “I – ah, thank you – “

There was a slight commotion in the hall and then Steve burst into the room, trailed by Bruce, Bucky, Tony, and Natasha. “Her,” he said, sounding a little winded, “it’s her, the one in the chair, not, um, the one Thor is… getting reacquainted with. Her name’s Darcy.”

Bruce was the first to step, wringing his hands a little. “I’m… not really sure what to say to you,” he admitted.

“That’ll do,” she said, staring at him.

“Oh,” he said softly, almost wonderingly, “Steve was right.”

Darcy turned her attention to the Winter Soldier. “So, what about you?”

He grinned charmingly, “You’re definitely mine.”

“Wow,” Tony said, incredulous, “I, for one, was not expecting _this_.”

“You think I _was?_ ” Darcy asked him.

“Oh,” the futurist went pale and then, “Oh,” he said again.

“You too?” Clint asked.

“Apparently,” he said. “I think I need a drink.”

Darcy looked around the room, at all of her soulmates, and slumped back against the chair. “I will second that emotion.”

“What do you call this pink, fizzy drink?” came Volstagg’s voice from the kitchen.

“Champagne, sir,” JARVIS replied. “Please do not – “

“I like it!” the Asgardian declared, his proclamation quickly followed by the soft tinkle of breaking glass. “Another!”

Jane broke away from Thor long enough to frown. “I thought you’d _talked to them_ about that!”

He smiled at her beatifically. “It must have slipped from my thoughts, they were so full of you, my love,” he told her sincerely, then pulled her in for round two of the reunion-post-battle-soulmate kisses.

Darcy began to laugh because the universe was a bizarre, wonderful place.

And, apparently, it _really_ liked her.

**2\. “Falling Off the Edge of the World,” by Heaven & Hell, nebulously post-CA:tWS and AU for everything after**

Darcy rounded the corner on the way to the labs, grinning and waving at the workers who were in the middle of replacing one of the large windows that Hulk had destroyed during the last incursion on the Tower. Stupid Doombots. They were one of the hazards of living in New York, though, so Darcy had gotten used to them. She’d also gotten used to scientists and superheroes, and all manner of things that she’d never seen before going to college, meeting Jane Foster, and choosing the blue pill. It was an odd life, and interesting in that Chinese-curse-and-or-proverb sort of way, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Even if she occasionally had to deal with Evil Jane, her best friend’s underfed, sleep-deprived alter ego.

“If you don’t eat this sandwich, I will be forced to resort to desperate measures,” she informed her friend.

“I’m in the _middle_ of something!” the petite scientist fairly _snarled_. Her eyes were reddened and her hair sticking out every which way, horribly knotted from Jane’s habit of running her fingers through it while thinking, and currently home to three different pencils and a few post-it notes.

“You can go right back to your something as soon as you _eat this sandwich,_ ” Darcy said.

Jane bared her teeth at her, looking like a wild woman.

“Eat, or I’m calling your mother.”

Jane froze. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Reluctantly, she stuck her pencil behind her ear and grabbed the sandwich, taking a large bite. “Ham and avocado?” she asked, eyes lighting up. Of course, her mouth was full of food, so it came out sounding more like, “Mmm ‘n ca-oh?”

Luckily, Darcy was fluent in eccentric-genius speak. “Of course.”

“Tha-oo,” Jane said reluctantly, then swallowed. “I suppose I needed this,” she admitted, smiling a little. Her eyes had lost some of their glaze and her shoulders their rigid tension.

“You know,” Darcy said hopefully, “if you took a nap…”

“Don’t push it,” the scientist snapped, then looked contrite almost as soon as the words left her mouth. “Sorry, Dee. I guess I am a little tired.”

“Eat that, drink _two_ glasses of water, and I won’t bug you for another hour. I know you’re on a roll.”

“I _am_ ,” Jane said excitedly. “These variables from the anomaly last month – “

Darcy let the soothing sounds of science-babble wash over her while she tidied up her friend’s desk.

“ – and Pym has let me borrow some of his… are you even listening?”

“Dr. Pym is letting you play with his toys while he plays with Tony’s, right?”

“Basically.”

“He still in the lab with the science bros?”

“Yeah.”

She sighed, “I’ll go check in on them, then. Bruce is pretty reliable, but Tony can be just as bad as you.”

Jane rolled her eyes and turned back to her work, absentmindedly nibbling at the sandwich still clutched in her hand.

Darcy headed back out into the hall, about to turn towards the other labs when she noticed something odd: the workers were no longer stationed at the window. She frowned, heading down to check on them – maybe they were around the corner? As soon as she got close enough to look, there was a loud bang behind her and then –

She turned to see the workers sprinting towards her, some armed with guns –

One of them raised his, pointed it at her – 

A bright flash –

Darcy spared a moment to be grateful that the men posing as construction workers had _not_ finished putting in the new window: it would have hurt like a bitch to be flung into (or through) all of that glass. Of course, instead of death by glass, she had death by defenestration to look forward to. Which kind of sucked. In fact, the only reason that she had _time_ to contemplate her own demise was because the Tower was quite tall, and the science labs were near the top. But the ground was coming inexorably closer, and –

Suddenly it wasn’t.

“Whew!” a high-pitched feminine voice exclaimed. “That was a close one!”

“You’re telling me,” Darcy said, dazed. She was encased in a large, blue… well, it looked like a bubble, but it was attached to a ray coming from a tiny - _insect_ tiny – woman’s bracelet.

“Ohmigod!” the tiny woman shrieked. “You’re! _Ohmigod!_ ”

“It would be nice if we could have this conversation on solid ground,” Darcy said, swallowing hard and _not looking down._

“Right! Of course, just let me…”

Darcy shut her eyes tightly as her stomach let her know that she was moving rapidly - _zooming_ was not an inappropriate word – while the bubble prevented her from feeling the passage of air over her skin. She _did_ feel it when something solid – please, Thor, let it be the ground – came into contact with her legs and butt. She opened her eyes to find herself back in the hall she had so recently been thrown from, faced with several unconscious workers, a hysterical Jane, Iron Man and Hulk.

Hulk swept her up as soon as the bubble released her. “Darcy,” he said, petting her hair. “Don’t do that again.”

“Not on my agenda, big guy,” she said faintly.

“Hank!” the tiny woman shrieked. “ _Hank!_ ” There was a faint sound, almost like a popping noise as she rapidly grew into a normal-sized human being. She was about Tony’s height, actually, though built along thinner lines like Jane.

Oh, right, Jane.

“Can I use your freak out to get you to take a break?” Darcy wondered.

“Oh, _Dee_ ,” Jane spluttered. “If you hadn’t needed to check on me – if I wasn’t – I’m _so sorry!_ ”

“Hey, hey, _no_ \- I was just kidding, Janey! Oh crap… Okay, put me down, big guy.” Hulk obliging lowered her, though not without one additional pat on her head, and she swept the sobbing scientist into her arms, stroking her back with one hand and pulling the pencils out of her hair with the other.

There was another popping sound as a _man_ rapidly grew beside Iron Man. “You bellowed, Janet?”

“ _She’s our soulmate!_ ” the not-so-tiny woman, Janet Van Dyne – unless Darcy missed her guess, said excitedly.

“Are you?” he said to her, sounding surprised.

“Looks that way,” she told him over Jane’s shoulder, smiling at his startled-but-pleased face.

“Oh!” Jane pulled away, wiping her eyes, “Really? The Pyms?”

“Pym and _Van Dyne,_ ” Janet corrected, practically vibrating in place. “I never took his name.”

“We were waiting for you,” Hank said, serious.

“I’m fine with either,” Darcy offered. “Or both, I guess. Actually, wait, aren’t we kind of jumping the gun?”

“We are?” Hank frowned.

“Do you want to go on a date with us?” Janet asked, words coming out rapid-fire. “Tonight? I mean, we could go tomorrow but WE FINALLY FOUND YOU, we’ve been looking for AGES! It would just be really – “

“Tonight is fine,” Darcy interrupted, “but lets keep it casual, and, ah, preferably somewhere on the ground floor.”

**3\. “All Rise,” by Blue, post-CA:tWS**

“There’s really nothing to worry about,” Darcy promised, all the while thinking: _I deserve a raise for this._ She pasted on her biggest, most nothing-to-see-here-all-is-well smile. It appeared to be working on Fandral, but Hogun was more difficult to read. “As I was saying,” she continued, “Sif is in no danger whatsoever. She is perfectly healthy, safe, and – last I saw her - _happy_ , so, really, you guys can just… go home. She’s coming back, I swear!”

“She has gone beyond Heimdall’s sight,” Hogun said. “That is a dark magic.”

 _Or a bright science,_ Darcy mused, recalling the way the arc reactor had practically shone through Tony’s clothing when he’d met his soulmate. Of course, Steve hadn’t been much better, his smile had been gorgeous enough to make baby eagles weep… or something.

“ _We_ might believe you,” Fandral told her, “but there are other interested parties – “

“Besides Thor?” Darcy asked skeptically.

“Yes, Sif is much beloved by the people of Asgard.”

“You guys trust us with your crown prince, but not Sif? I’m not sure whether to be confused or possibly offended on her behalf – don’t you think she can take care of herself?” she asked innocently. Her instructions, when she had been sent to meet the duo on the Tower’s landing pad, had been to mollify the Asgardian delegation or, if that proved impossible, at least hold them off as long as she could. Between Hogun’s general reticence and Fandral’s reluctance to truly offend her, she thought she could keep them running in conversational circles for _quite_ a while. Definitely long enough for Tony, Steve, and Sif to have whatever conversation or _assignation_ they felt was warranted as newly discovered soulmates.

That, right there, was the problem: Darcy was prepared for the two of _them_ , but there was another ‘interested party,’ though she could have had no way of knowing that.

“Of _course_ we trust you,” Fandral hurriedly assured her, “and Sif’s competence is known through the whole of the Nine Realms. I am sure that she is whole, hale, and hearty – “

“Then why do you need to see her?”

“Her brother – “ the blond began, but his words cut off as symbols began to appear around Darcy’s feet.

She had time to throw a panicked look towards the two before she disappeared in a flash of rainbow-colored light.

“Her brother is impatient,” Hogun finished, staring at the runes on the tarmac.

“Aye,” Fandral sighed, “and now we must explain her absence.”

…

Darcy swallowed repeatedly to prevent herself from vomiting as the rainbow lights melted away to reveal a giant golden dome. _Wow, that is… a lot of gold,_ she thought to herself, turning in place as she took in the murals carved into the gold, the glowy rainbow lights that showed where she’d just been spat out by the Bifrost, and the gigantic man wearing golden armor and _staring at her._

“Um. Hello?”

“Where is my sister?” he demanded, voice deep and resonant.

“Your sister?”

He took his hands off of the sword sticking into the ground (Darcy felt a moment of relief) and began stalking towards her (Darcy’s relief gave way to alarm). “ _Sif,_ ” he said. “Where is Sif!”

“Wait, Sif is your _sister?_ ” Darcy echoed, deeply confused. As he got closer she could see skin under all that armor, and he was definitely what humans would call a black man, whereas Sif was definitely white. “Were you adopted?” she couldn’t help but ask.

He growled and reached out to wrap one large hand around her upper arm – and seriously, she’d thought Thor was big but this guy was freaking _huge_ \- and yank her into his chest, the better to loom over her. “You will cease your dissembling, woman, and tell me where my sister is or I will – “ he cut off, abruptly, the anger on his face swiftly turning to confusion.

“Or you’ll what?” She didn’t really _want_ to know, but she felt she _needed_ to.

“You…” He released her, took a step back and then just stood there, hands fisted at his sides.

Darcy watched him, torn between asking if he was still pissed or inquiring about _how_ , exactly, Asgardian genetics worked if neither he nor Sif _were_ adopted. She was only just now noticing it, but not even his eyes matched Sif’s: where hers were a blue-grey, his were amber-gold, and intense, and extremely focused on _Darcy_ at the moment.

“Midgardians are marked with the words of their intended, are they not?” he finally said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she said, drawing the word out. “Jane and I have figured out that my mate’s Asgardian but – oh. Oh _holy shit_. SERIOUSLY?”

Instead of answering, his hands went to his pants.

“Um!” she said, ignoring the way her voice had gone shrill and high-pitched. “Just what _the fuck_ do you think you’re doing?!”

He said nothing, merely continued undoing his breeches until he could shove them midway down his hips, till only the cloth that hung down from his chest armor (was it called a tabard?) kept him from indecency. His actions had revealed a whole lot of smooth, dark skin covering thick slabs of muscle, and a glowing circle of sea green knot work on his right thigh. Darcy, who had seen the rainbow-colored disc that represented Thor’s union with Jane, gasped.

“Is that – is that _us?_ ” she asked, moving towards him as if drawn by a magnet.

“So it would seem,” he said, watching her approach.

She traced a finger over the mark, and then abruptly realized what position they were in: him holding his pants halfway up while she caressed his bare thigh. She looked up into his eyes and gulped, apparently the intimacy of their position had _not_ been lost on _him_. She quickly turned and took a few steps away, “You can put your pants back on, now! I believe you, and I, ah, I guess you wanna see yours?”

“Yes,” he said shortly, his answer accompanied by the soft rustle of cloth.

Darcy assumed he was securing his pants, but _like hell_ was she going to check. “Okay, right,” she said, and started stripping off her sweater. Her mark, like Jane’s, was wrapped around her bicep. Unfortunately, when she had dressed that morning she hadn’t dressed with the intention of showing off her soulmark. Her options were to either strip completely, or stretch her shirt out beyond repair. It was a tough decision, but she _liked_ the shirt, damnit! She took it off, though, all the while keeping her back to Heimdall, then held it across her chest while she turned to hold her arm out to him.

Once again, he wrapped his hand around her arm, though he was much more gentle this time. Instead of holding her still, he pulled her towards him again. This time she felt less _loomed over_ and more _surrounded_. It was a fine distinction, but it was the difference between _oh shit is he about to kill me_ and _oh shit is he about to kiss me?!_ She vastly preferred the latter, but both set her heart pounding.

“It says ‘Where is my sister?’ – a question you have yet to answer,” he said softly, his thumb stroking the skin just below the runes.

Darcy shivered. “Sif is in the Tower,” she admitted. “She found her soulmates there and one of them, ah, kind of thinks the whole all-seeing thing is creepy? He has a thingy that puts him outside your sight naturally, but I think he found a way to extend it for their, uh… what did Sif call it? Their _soul reunion_.”

“Sif has ever had the subtlety of a raging bilgesnipe,” Heimdall said dryly, “but in this I find that I am of a like mind with my sister.”

“Meaning?”

He traced the fingers of his free hand down her cheek to curl around the line of her jaw, then bent down and fit his mouth over hers.

 _Oh, right. **Reuniting the souls**_ , Darcy thought muzzily.

Then he lifted her into his arms and for a long time she did not think at all.

**4\. Breakaway,” by Kelly Clarkson, post-canon for MCU and takes Spiderman 2 into the AU zone part way through the film**

It was a beautiful day. Not the overwhelming sunshiny kind of beautiful, but the overcast sort. The layer of clouds was thin enough that it was still very bright outside, but not so thick that Darcy wanted to curl up somewhere inside with a movie or a book. Instead, she was at the park, enjoying the fresh air and some new tunes. They weren’t new in the ‘hot off the record press’ sense, but new to her iPod. When she’d finally gotten it back from Coulson, it had come with a chiding note about expanding her interests beyond Europop and several _dozen_ new playlists.

She still wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed.

Still, the agent had given her a gift, and her mother always taught her to be gracious, so: listening to new music. She was on her third go-through with this particular playlist, which had been named ‘exasperating people.’ She had established that she liked the voices of the various singers, and the melodies of the songs, and on this listen through she was listening to the lyrics. It was, perhaps, not the way most people did this, but it worked for her. Darcy continued to hum along, bobbing her head to the song, as she carefully picked her way over the large rocks that dotted one side of the pond in this section of the park. To her right were trees and pathways, people jogging and walking their dogs, and to her left was the pond, where two guys were skipping rocks. Darcy was the only one scrambling over rocks, but what other people probably saw as meaningless foolishness, she saw as a challenge. It was fun!

Still, splitting her attention in this manner probably wasn’t the best idea. Something she discovered when she lost her footing, leading to her letting out a shriek as she windmilled her arms desperately. For a moment, just a moment, she thought that she had it, that she’d found her footing again, and then – nope, definitely falling. Instead of the ground, however, she found herself falling into the arms of one of the young men who had been skipping rocks.

She blinked up into his concerned brown eyes and grinned, “My hero.”

He flushed and ducked his head, a silly grin crossing his features, then helped her stand under her own power.

Darcy slid her headphones down and stuck out a hand to introduce herself, “Darcy Lewis is the name, and you are?”

“Uh, Peter. Peter Parker,” he said, still looking a little flustered.

“You okay, dude?” she asked. “You look more freaked out than I am, and _I’m_ the one who fell!”

“He’s always been a little tongue-tied around beautiful women,” the second rock-skipper said, joining them. He yanked Peter to his side and rubbed his knuckles over the other man’s head, causing her rescuer’s already gravity-defying hair to stick out in even _more_ directions. Darcy would have commented on his likeness to Harry Potter, but her brain was a little busy with something more pressing, because unless this was an _insane coincidence_ -

“So you’re the one with the smooth moves?” she asked, watching the second guy hopefully.

Both of them froze, and Darcy was the recipient of two very _startled_ stares: one blue-eyed, one brown.

“Just figures, Harry,” Peter said, mock-offended. “ _I_ do the rescuing, _you_ get the girl.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with her if you had her,” the other guy, Harry, retorted automatically, not once looking away from Darcy.

She raised her brows at him, “And you _do?_ ”

He grinned, “Absolutely, and since Peter lacks the manners, let me introduce myself: I’m Harry Osborne.”

Darcy let out a low whistle, “Well, this relationship is off to a rocky start: I work for Stark.”

“Oh?” he said, giving her an arch look. “Maybe we can poach you away, I assure you the benefits package is… extensive.”

Peter snorted.

She rolled her eyes, “Why don’t we start with a date, junior.”

Harry smirked, not even a little deterred. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**5\. “Some Day My Prince Will Come,” from _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ , post-canon**

“You just need to face it, Jane: you hit the soulmate jackpot,” Darcy sighed.

“I did, didn’t I?” the other woman said, stumbling a little.

They were both more than a little tipsy, wandering down the street at you-should-be-in-bed-stupid o’clock in the morning after an evening of good pizza and better alcohol. They’d started the night celebrating Darcy’s promotion (officially her title was ‘archivist’ but her job was better described as ‘curator of crazy knowledge, magic and alien department’), but that had segued into a serious discussion about what parts of the ex-intern’s life still needed improving. The number one concern Darcy currently had was her love life, or lack of one.

“You don’t _have_ to wait for your soulmate. Soul _mates_.”

“I know,” Darcy said, linking arms with Jane to give them both a little more stability. “It’s just. I know that I have two people, and they’re _perfect_ , so. Why settle, you know? They’re _out there_. I just wish they were _here_ , instead. I hate waiting.”

“Yeah… waiting is a bitch.”

“But your wait was totally worth it. I mean, Thor is very… _Thor_. Plus there’s the prince thing.”

“I’m not actually a fan of the prince thing,” Jane pointed out.

“Well, no,” Darcy allowed, “but it does fit your insane fairytale romance theme.”

“Fairytales don’t have _aliens_.”

“Yeah, but, he’s a god too.”

“Fairytales don’t have _gods_.”

“ _My point is_ … you lucked out. The universe came through for you, and I am _confident_ that it will come through for me. Eventually. I just hate waiting for it to happen.”

“But you don’t _have_ to wait,” Jane said again, looking a little confused. “I feel like we’ve covered this before. Have we covered this before?”

“Yes, we’re going in conversational circles.”

“Right. That makes sense. Are we going in regular circles, too?”

Darcy frowned, “What makes you ask that?”

“Because we’ve passed that dumpster with the purple graffiti at least twice.”

She looked around and – yep, there it was. “Oh, crap. Maybe I should call a cab?”

“Prob’ly a good idea.”

Darcy held on to Jane a little tighter with one hand while using the other to fish around in her pocket for her phone. She’s just gotten it into her hand when a hand clamped down on her shoulder and something hard and round dug into her back. “Jane?”

“Hm?”

“Is there a dude behind me?”

“…Yes.”

“Are we being mugged?”

“Hopefully?”

“Jane!”

“Well, if they’re not mugging us, then they’re after something _else_.”

Darcy felt the passage of air as the man behind her drew a breath, probably to clarify his intent, but then there was a soft _thump_ , and a choking sound, and abruptly the thing was gone from her back and she was spinning around to find… huh. There was a dude in a red leather catsuit – She knew this one! She’d heard Tony and Natasha discussing this guy, if she could just remember what he was called… - crouching over her would-be mugger and going through his pockets.

“So the mugger is getting mugged?” she said.

“I’m trying to find out who he’s working for,” the guy – Daredevil! – corrected.

“That’s my soulmark, well, it’s one of them. Are you my soulmate?”

“One of them,” he said. “Have you met the other?”

“Not yet, but there’s no way they can make a better entrance than _you_. Thanks, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, and you’d be surprised: if we share our third then she’s even better at impressive entrances than I am.” He stood, pocketing something he’d taken from the mugger, and held something out for her: “Contact me here,” he said, once she’d taken the item – a _business card_. Really?

“Crime-fighting goes corporate?” she asked, a little incredulous.

“Something like that,” he said, head tilting to one side in a way that Darcy read as ‘amused.’ “I’ve known I’d meet you in the line of duty for a while, though. Thought it best to be prepared.”

“I’m sure that, when I’m sober, I’ll appreciate that,” Darcy informed him.

“Dee,” Jane stage-whispered, “your soulmate is wearing a _catsuit_.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“ _Kinky_ ,” she said approvingly.

“ _Jane!_ ” Under Darcy’s quelling look, the scientist rolled her eyes and then detached herself from her friend’s side to go call Thor.

Daredevil appeared to be suppressing a smile. “I’ll wait with you while you call your friends. It looks like he’s a low-level thug from the Kingpin’s organization. The Avengers will probably want to know that he’s muddying the waters.”

“Villains should stick to their specific archnemesis. Nemeses? What is the plural?”

“You had it right, ‘nemeses.’”

“Oh, good. If I can’t make a sober impression, I’d at least like to make a relatively _smart_ one. You’re not, ah, disappointed?” she asked, blunt about her insecurities in a way that only liquor could make her.

“Well, you haven’t tried to stab me yet, that puts you one up on my other soulmate.”

“Huh,” Darcy said, digesting that. “I’m starting to worry about our potentially-mutual soulmate.”

Daredevil opened his mouth, possibly with the intent to comfort her, but at that moment a massive bolt of lightning split the sky above the city, quickly followed by a particularly loud crack of thunder.

Darcy smiled, “Thor’s not really a fan of the whole Jane-in-danger thing, pretty sure it’s a soulmate thing.” She jerked in surprise because Daredevil was suddenly _there_ , in her space and cradling her face in his hands.

“I find that I’m not really a fan of it, either. Stay out of trouble, would you?” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and then stepped away again. “I can’t keep an eye on you all the time.” With that, he darted off into an alleyway, just seconds before Thor landed with a crunch of pavement.

Darcy stared down at the business card he’d given her and grinned before tucking it away into her pocket.

_One down, one potentially stabby second soulmate to go…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Darcy/Steve/Bruce/Tony/Bucky/Sam/Clint/Fandral/Hogun: prompted by Cinnie. This might have been confusing, but HOLY CATS is that a bizarre 'ship to write! In case it wasn't clear, although everyone is Darcy's soulmate, some of them have other soulmates as well. It goes Steve/Sam/Bucky/Bruce(/Darcy), Fandral/Hogun(/Darcy), Pepper & Tony(/Darcy), Natasha & Bobbi & Clint(/Darcy). The "&" stands for a platonic pairing, although I haven't really fleshed out in my head which (if any) of Darcy's eight bonds are platonic. I'll leave that up to you.
> 
> 2\. Darcy/Hank Pym/Janet Van Dyne: prompted by Verity_Reigns. I was largely basing their characterizations off of the one thing I've seen them in, which is one of the _Avengers_ cartoons. Hopefully, I did them some sort of justice.
> 
> 3\. Darcy/Heimdall: prompted by HeyNonnieNonnie, katdemon1895, and Mischief11.
> 
> 4\. Darcy/Harry Osborne: prompted by Liveandlauren. Yes, I used new!Harry, not James Franco.
> 
> 5\. Darcy/Daredevil: prompted by Pom Rania, Cinnie, Acheron.


	34. iPod shuffle (love is the rhythm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. “Something,” by Jim Sturgess, _Across the Universe_
> 
> 2\. "Send Me An Angel," by Thrice
> 
> 3\. “Father and Son,” by Daft Punk, _Tron_
> 
> 4\. “Look Through My Window,” by The Mamas and the Papas
> 
> 5\. “Medley: Fallin’/A Woman’s Worth/If I Ain’t Got You,” by Delilah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on this thing for over a week. *posts it anyways* It's definitely not the strongest chapter, but I'm sick of seeing it on my desktop, sitting there and mocking me. I love taking prompts, but I'm fully aware that characterization can (and does) suffer when I'm not as familiar with the characters. Sorry, guys.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> That said, if you would like to see my top three fancasts for Namor before reading, please look at the end notes. I included gifs! (See, I told you I would use that newfound knowledge for evil.)

**1\. “Something,” by Jim Sturgess, post CA:tWS**

When she’d put in the emergency extraction call, Darcy had expected to get some sort of elite security team, or maybe the cops, possibly even a couple of super-advanced-robots – she’d called _Stark_ , after all. What she had _not_ expected, not even as a gal on a first name basis with Thor, was to get the Avengers. Technically speaking, it was just two of the Avengers, but _still_. Lucky they had come, though: from the moment they’d showed till they reached the airport, everything had been a haze of bullets, screaming, and screeching tires.

“So, I’m guessing that they were waiting to nab us,” Darcy said to Jane as they caught their breath.

“Thank god for lackadaisical bad guys,” Jane said.

“Ooh, _lackadaisical_ \- have you been using that word of the day app?”

“Maybe.”

“Thor says he’ll meet us in New York,” came a low, throaty, feminine voice from the direction of the cockpit. A moment later, the redhead who owned said voice carefully picked her way back to them. “Are either of you injured?” Natasha, aka the Black Widow, asked.

“Bumps and bruises, nothing that won’t heal,” Darcy assured her.

“Glad to hear it,” she said. “Do you have any plans for once we reach the city?”

“Stark said he’d put us up – or put up with us? – he wasn’t particularly clear.”

“I’m still looking over the contract he offered,” Jane said, frowning. “Worst comes to worst, we’ll get a hotel.”

“Nonsense,” their second rescuer – Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, said as he joined them. “Stark’s casa es su casa, I’m sure.”

Darcy blinked at him. “Waitaminute! If _you’re_ here and _she’s_ here then _who’s flying the plane?!_ ”

He stared at her. “You’re kidding,” he said flatly.

“Uh, no, I never joke about life-threatening situations.”

Jane coughed pointedly.

“Fine, I _occasionally_ joke about life-threatening situations. Happy?”

“Satisfied.”

Clint was still staring at her, so was Natasha for that matter, though the redhead’s expression was less ‘hit by a 2x4’ and more ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “What?” Darcy asked impatiently. “And, seriously, you have yet to answer my _very reasonable_ question.”

He groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face, then turned his back on her and stripped his shirt off… revealing Darcy’s angular penmanship running vertically down his spine in a blue so pale it was almost white.

“No _way_ ,” she breathed.

“Way,” he said dryly, turning back to face her. “Well, maybe. What’s your mark?”

“Well, I’ve got two,” Darcy said slowly, attention a little split by the fact that her apparent _soulmate_ was standing in front of her and _holding_ his shirt instead of _wearing_ it. She’d heard that archery did nice things to guys’ arms, but it was more like the whole upper body region if Clint was an accurate representation. _Damn_. “I’m guessing yours is the one that says _Stay right behind me!_ and not the one that says, _Wait - you? Really?_ ”

Natasha snorted.

“Probably a good guess, yeah,” Clint affirmed.

“Huh, well.” She stared up at him, still trying to assimilate the information that _this_ guy, this _superhero_ was one of her soulmates. “Are we platonic?” she asked abruptly. “I mean, it’s cool if we are, but… triads, you know? Wait, _do_ you know our third? Do we _share_ our third? Crap, do we have one of those bonds that’s un – “ her words cut off when he pressed two fingers to her lips.

“ _Calm down_ ,” he said, looking like he was trying not to laugh.

Darcy nipped his fingers and he snatched his hand back.

“Or you could do that,” he said, watching her with wide eyes that were definitely a shade or two darker than they’d been a moment before. He definitely wasn’t laughing _now_.

“There are better ways to get her to stop babbling,” Jane observed, an amused look on her face that swiftly turned to horrified embarrassment as the other three occupants of the plane simultaneously looked at her and she realized _exactly_ what she’d just said. “That’s not – I meant _distract her_ \- wait, that’s – “

“Quit while you’re ahead, Janie,” Darcy advised her, stringently ignoring the steady heat in her cheeks that told her she was blushing like mad. She glanced at the other two and found that the Black Widow was actually _smiling_ (just a little, but it was definitely there) and Clint –

Clint waited until she made eye contact and then he smirked, eyes going half-lidded in a way that made her something low in her belly clench.

“You, ah – you still haven’t answered my question, you know.”

“Autopilot.”

“Oh, right,” she said, then: “I think you can put your shirt back on now.”

At that, the redhead actually _snorted_ , then turned and shoved Clint toward the cockpit. “Go fly the plane, there’ll be plenty of time for flirting _later_ and autopilot won’t know what to do if there’s trouble.”

“All right, all right!” he groused, yanking his shirt back on. “We _will_ talk. Later,” he said, throwing Darcy yet another heated look before he disappeared out of sight.

“You’ll have your hands full with that one,” Natasha told Darcy, looking sympathetic.

 _In the literal or the figurative sense?_ she wondered, then hastily repressed that thought. She wasn’t sure whether or not the rumors of the redheaded spy’s telepathy were true or not, and didn’t feel like field-testing them with dirty thoughts about her partner.

“It’ll be a few hours,” the spy informed them. “Rest. You’ll need it.” With that, she left to join Clint in the cockpit.

“Was it just me,” Darcy said, “or was she aiming that last bit at _me_ more than you?”

“It wasn’t just you… which makes me _really_ curious who your soulmate’s other soulmate is,” Jane said, a speculative gleam in her eye.

“You and me both.”

She didn’t think it was possible considering the stresses of the day (Explosions! Guns! Attempted kidnappings! Soulmates!) and the potential stresses she was looking forward to when they landed (More soulmates?), but she ended up falling asleep on Jane’s shoulder, not waking until they were about to land. She jerked awake with a start, which woke Jane. They blinked at each other blearily for a moment or two, sharing mutual looks of consternation and then realization as they recalled the events that had led to their present surroundings.

“It’s been a weird day, huh?” Jane said, smiling wryly.

“And it’s not over yet,” Darcy sighed.

“Cheer up,” the scientist demanded, nudging her with her shoulder. “Your soulmate has the arms of a _god_. I should know!”

“Yeah, but for the universe to even out, my other soulmate must be, like, a toad or something,” Darcy reasoned.

“I… don’t think that’s how the whole soulmate thing works,” Jane said, heading for the rear of the plane where the exit was.

“That might not be how _soulmates_ work, but it’s how _life_ works,” she muttered, then followed. It was still sunny out, making Darcy blink in the light. She wasn’t sure which side of the equation they’d come out on: if they’d lost time or gained it in the travelling. Natasha _had_ said it would be just a few hours… Speaking of which, where was the redhead? Darcy turned and saw the woman in question walking her way, but looking past her. When she turned again, she noticed a small group of people coming out of the building.

“Steve!” Natasha called. “I found you a date for the Stark Gala!”

“Very funny,” a _really_ tall, _incredibly_ buff-looking blond dude said. Holy shit, Captain America was _way_ hotter in person than he was on television. It helped that there wasn’t a mask covering his face – it was a _nice_ face. He was giving Natasha a fondly annoyed look. “I appreciate the thought, but the joke’s getting old, Nat.”

The spy raised an eyebrow at him, then sent a speaking look Darcy’s way.

It did not take her long to put two and two together. “Pretty sure she’s not joking around this time, dude.”

Steve Rogers did a double take. “Wait - you? Really?”

“’Fraid so,” she said. He looked like he’d just been hit in the back of the head with a frying pan. She chose to take it as a compliment.

“Steve!” Clint greeted the other blond with a hug and then leapt into his arms for an enthusiastic kiss that went on and on – not that Darcy was complaining, _hell_ no, her front row seat to the show was fabulous. By the time it ended, both men were panting and Steve’s hands were planted firmly on Clint’s ass. She wasn’t sure which of them she envied more. “So,” Clint turned his head to give her a salacious wink. “Platonic?”

Darcy gulped. “All signs point to no,” she said.

“Clint,” Steve chided, loosening his hold so the other man could slip back down to the ground. Darcy noticed that Clint got in a not-so-subtle grind on his way, an act that made the Cap bite his lip to muffle a groan. “We,” he cleared his throat and started again, giving her a small smile: “I’d - _we’d_ \- like to get to know you before we address the platonic question. Maybe a date?”

“To the Stark Gala?” Nat put in, making Darcy jump. She’d forgotten the other woman was there.

“That’s a little high profile for a first date,” Clint decided. “Dinner and a movie?”

“That sounds perfect,” Darcy said, concentrating _really hard_ to keep herself from sounding as flustered as she felt. “My people will call your people and, really, it’s been wonderful to meet both of you. Clint, I appreciate the whole life-saving thing. Natasha, same. Steve… um, yes.” She nodded at the three of them and then hightailed it for Jane.

“Too much for one day?” the scientist broke away from her conversation with Bruce Banner (the Hulk!) to ask, not without sympathy.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “I like commenting on your bizarre adventures more than having my own. Can we go back to that?”

“Judging from the looks your soulmates are giving you? No.”

**2\. “Send Me An Angel,” by Thrice, post GotG**

“Holy fucking _shiiiiit_ ,” Darcy wailed as the bright light of the comet headed _straight for her_. She slammed on the brakes, tires squealing and skidding a little as she cranked the wheel _hard_ to avoid the impact. Only, the comet seemed to… slow? As it approached? She had spent the past few years working with a brilliant astrophysicist and still had no earthly (hah) idea what the _fuck_ she was seeing. Th comet was defying everything she _thought_ she knew about physics, the light actually _course-correcting_ and heading towards her again. She barely had time to whimper and cringe down in her seat before there was a soundless explosion of light and color… and then a solid _thump_ as something impacted with the hood of her truck.

Darcy waited until her hands had stopped shaking and the spots had (mostly) dissolved form her vision before slowly sitting up and peaking over her dash. There was a man sprawled across the hood of her truck. She made out gingery hair and a red leather jacket, anything more was lost to the darkness of the night and the fact that her vision was still scattered with glowing purple spots.

She took a deep breath, grabbed her taser, and slipped out of the car. Comet Guy groaned at the sound of her car door opening, and she froze for a second before continuing. Darcy did not step out from behind the door, but she _did_ clear her throat, loudly. “You’re on Earth,” she said, voice slightly unsteady, “also known as Midgard. Please don’t be a psycho planet-coveting alien…”

“M’not an alien,” he groaned.

Darcy’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“No, really,” Comet Guy said, sitting up and cracking his neck. “I was born here. S’just… been a long time since I visited.”

“My soulmark says, _I’m not an alien,_ ” she informed him.

That brought his head whipping around. “Oh, oh crap… I, ah, I… don’t have a soulmark,” he told her, sounding sad.

“Oh,” Darcy said, a little disappointed. She eyed him for a moment, the edged around the car door and stepped up to the side of her truck, holding out her hand for him to shake. “Well, I’m Darcy. Darcy Lewis. Nice to meet you, I guess, even if you’re not my soulmate.”

He smiled and took her hand – and the world exploded with light yet again. This time it wasn’t soundless, it was booming, throbbing, head-splitting, heart-lurching, stomach-jumping _loud_ and it went on and on and on until Darcy wanted to scream, but feared adding to the din might make her ears explode. Then, suddenly, as fast as it had happened, the sound, the light, the pressure was all gone.

She was still holding Comet Guy’s hand and he looked every bit as rattled as she _felt_.

 _~My debt has been discharged,~_ a glowing orange ball of swirly color solemnly pronounced. _~May you enjoy what wholeness you can with your mate.~_ It then pulsated four times and disappeared.

“What. The _fuck_ ,” Darcy said.

“I have no clue,” Comet Guy told her. “Um. My name’s Peter Quill, by the way.”

“Where the hell _are we?!_ ” she asked him, looking around. She saw metal and rivets and then a window and _holy fucking shit **stars**_. There were stars outside the window. They were in _space_.

“ _Um_ ,” Peter said again, sounding rather alarmed. “Remember what I said about not having a soulmark?”

“Yeah?” Darcy turned to find him staring in shock at his own hand, the one she’d shook. Parts of it – the parts she had touched – were glowing a warm, fleshy pink: as if someone has stuck a flashlight under his skin to highlight the areas where they’d made contact.

“Probably should mention that I’m, ah, well, _technically speaking_ , I’m only half human? My mom was human, my dad was… still not 100% sure what, exactly,” he said, still staring at his own hand. “But I’m guessing my soulmark comes from my dad’s side of the family.”

Darcy looked from his glowing hand, to his stunned face, to the _window_ of the _spaceship_ she was _currently in_ and did the only reasonable thing: she fainted.

**3\. “Father and Son,” by Daft Punk, post CA:tWS**

So far as Darcy could tell, this latest incident sounded more like a domestic dispute than actual superhero business. Sue Storm had been ‘kidnapped’ by Doom again, and Richards was raising holy hell. _Again_. Thing was, Doom was one of Sue’s soulmates (the other being Richards) and he, while admittedly in the morally confusing section of the superbeing spectrum, positively worshipped the ground she walked on. Darcy seriously doubted he would take the blonde anywhere she didn’t want to go. Besides, Sue usually turned back up a week or so later looking refreshed (ie: well-fucked) and ready to put up with Richards’ infamous ego and idiocy for another few months.

Unfortunately, this time Richards had appealed to Sue’s third soulmate (the only platonic one of the bunch), who happened to be both very powerful and infamously short-tempered. Namor was ‘King of the Seas’ or something like that, and he apparently spent at least ¾ of his time beneath the waves. The last quarter was spent on land, screwing with Richards’ head. Darcy already liked the guy and she hadn’t even met him.

She was about to, though. JARVIS had paged her for an emergency intervention, ie: coffee break, for the planning going on in the ‘war room.’ Even as she walked up to the glass door, she could see the brewing conflict in the pinched look on Steve’s face and the pulsing vein on Richards’ forehead. “Wish me luck, J-man,” she muttered under her breath as she opened the door, knowing the AI’s sensitive speakers would pick it up.

“Gentlemen,” she nodded to Bruce, “ladies,” she continued, looking at Natasha, “and everybody else,” her eyes swept over the rest of the ragtag bunch, a teasing grin dancing across her face when Tony rolled his eyes at her. “I’ve been informed that there might be a need for sustenance to sustain your planning.” Her years of friendship with Thor had really helped her foot-in-mouth disease, especially when it came to mixed company and tense situations.

“Thanks, Lewis,” Steve said, sighing, “but I think we’ve just about wrapped this up.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Richards spat. “ _Nothing_ is resolved!”

There was a dark chuckle from the Fantastic side of the room and Darcy turned her gaze to the man who must be Namor. He was obviously tall, even seated, and was broad-shouldered the way that all the hero-types seemed to be. His black hair was swept back from his forehead, revealing a prominent widow’s peak and the face of a fallen angel. This impression was completely reinforced by the disdainful curl of his lips as he regarded Richards. “Susan is with Victor, Reed, there is no mystery to solve here, no wrong to right,” he said, voice deep and resonant in a way that made Darcy’s toes want to curl in her shoes. “Unless, of course, we count your wounded ego.”

Richards sputtered with affront, looking around the table for allies and finding none. He muttered an oath and stood, stomping from the room still cursing under his breath and nearly knocking Darcy from her feet. She staggered when his shoulder (stupid broad-shouldered heroes!) clipped her, wobbling before two very large, very _warm_ hands settled on her arm and waist, steadying her.

Darcy looked up (and up, and up, _why were all of these heroes so damn tall?_ ) into Namor’s pale green-grey - _sea green_ , her mind provided, somewhat inanely – eyes and said the first thing that popped into her head: “ _Richards!_ What an asshole, am I right?”

Namor’s eyes widened and then he smiled at her before practically purring, “Something I will be eternally grateful to him for, as it has led me to you.”

She barely had time to think, _Apparently I should have been looking for my soulmate under the sea -_ before he was pulling her against him and covering her lips with his own. He practically _dove_ into her mouth, licking in and tasting every corner and crevice thoroughly, until his arms were all that held her up as she clung to him.

“Oh,” she breathed, staring up at him.

He gave her a very satisfied, oddly _feline_ sort of smile.

Still slightly dazed (by the revelation and that _zinger_ of a kiss), Darcy managed to forget all her vaunted diplomacy training with Thor and blurt out, “Um. You should know that I… never learned to swim?”

Over the sudden, bright laughter of the Avengers, Namor leaned in to murmur, “It would give me great pleasure to teach you, and I promise,” he continued with a look that could only be described as _smoldering_ , “you _will_ enjoy the lessons.”

**4\. “Look Through My Window,” by The Mamas and the Papas, post CA:tWS**

Darcy woke up the sound of people arguing.

The first voice was masculine and slightly familiar: “You _stole her from her room?_ What were you thinking?!”

“I wanted to meet her,” the other person, a woman, said calmly.

“There are other ways of meeting people! _Normal_ ways! Ways that don’t involve felonies!”

“Tch. ‘Normal’ is overrated,” the woman said, sounding… fond?

Darcy sat up and looked around. She was in a large loft in what looked like a refurbished factory. The ceiling was incredibly high overhead, and the furniture was minimal. She was lying on a bed, and there was a rudimentary kitchen set up about fifteen feet away. The speakers were another fifteen feet beyond _that_. The man was Daredevil, complete with red leather catsuit. The woman wasn’t familiar, but – judging by the conversation they were having, and Darcy’s original meeting with Daredevil – she was willing to bet that _this_ was his second soulmate, potentially hers as well.

The last thing she remembered was taking a nap in her apartment. And now she was… here. Wherever ‘here’ was.

Daredevil made a startled noise, “You’re awake!”

She blinked at him. “Looks like,” she said, then turned her gaze to the woman who was watching her right back. It turned into a stalemate: both knew that the other was probably their soulmate, but neither spoke. Darcy remained silent because she couldn’t think of anything to say to the strange woman who had, apparently, _abducted her_ from her apartment.

After an awkward minute, Daredevil made the introductions: “Darcy, this is Elektra Natchios. Elektra, this is Darcy Lewis.”

Elektra smiled, looking oddly tentative for a criminal and suddenly Darcy’s brain came back on line and highjacked her mouth without letting her tact intercede: “What did you knock me out with?”

She opened her mouth, shut it, then sighed and said, “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Darcy snorted. “’Nice’ would have been a coffee date. This is… strange.”

“Bad strange?” Daredevil asked, _also_ hesitant in a way she wouldn’t expect from a super.

“ _Weird_ strange, for me at least. You seem less surprised that our mutual third is given to felonies.”

“I’m a mercenary,” Elektra put in.

“Mercenary? Huh. So. Superhero,” she pointed at Daredevil, “mercenary,” she pointed at Elektra, “archivist,” she pointed to herself. Darcy slid her feet off the side of the bed before starting to singsong the old Sesame Street song, “One of these things is not like the other – “

“You _most certainly_ belong,” Elektra interrupted. “Matthew is a lawyer by day and I am not a stranger to study.”

“Matthew?”

Daredevil slid his mask down, revealing his face and smiling sheepishly. “My name’s Matthew Murdock when I’m not fighting crime.”

“And you’re a lawyer?”

“A public defender,” he clarified.

“So _are_ you ever not fighting crime?”

“Ah… I guess not.”

Darcy looked between the two of them, the way that their bodies – even tense as they were as they both watched _her_ \- curved towards each other. “So, you two have known each other for a while?”

“… A few years, yes,” Elektra said, not looking at Dare - _Matt_.

“And you’ve been together… this whole time?” she asked, trying to piece out where she fit in this unholy trinity.

“We – no,” Matt said softly. “We… argued, a few years ago.”

“I have not been back to the city since. I came as soon as Matt called to say he had met you, but…” she trailed off, turning her back on Matt and edging over toward the kitchen. “It’s been years since we last spoke.”

Darcy blinked. _Guess I’m joining this program already in progress._ “It sounds like we have a lot to figure out.”

**5\. “Medley: Fallin’/A Woman’s Worth/If I Ain’t Got You," by Delilah, post T:tDW**

Darcy was grateful for the opportunity SHIELD had given her to intern with an actual politician, but it felt like they’d gotten her the position as a sort of apology/bribe in the wake of the London mess, which leant the whole thing a somewhat unsavory flavor. She was still pissed that they hadn’t taken her “HELP, ALIENS!” call seriously, but as the Bard said: all’s well that ends well. Her internship? Going pretty well, all things considered. So much so that she was genuinely, earnestly, for the first time in _years_ , considering leaving Jane behind.

She loved working with the good doctor, and the strange family she’d cobbled together along the way, but she felt sort of stifled, sometimes. D.C. was like a breath of fresh air. Not in the literal sense, but in the getting-to-use-her-degree sense. She kind of loved it. SHIELD had set her up with an apartment, a stipend, and even a gym membership (she was choosing to see it as a perk and not a suggestion). The gym was nice, too – not too full of crazy muscle-bound enthusiasts, aggressively friendly Zumba ladies, or obnoxiously Zen yoga practitioners.

Of course, there were definitely a _few_ muscle-bound enthusiasts. There was one, in particular, that Darcy had had her eye on for a few weeks. He was tall and built along leaner lines than the supers she’d encountered. He had that whole ‘heroic jaw’ thing going, though. His hair was a dark blond, eyes a dark blue, and he was normal dude handsome instead of superhero perfect – which made him _just_ her speed and perfect for ogling.

Darcy prided herself on being a subtle ogler. The point was not to make the subject uncomfortable and, if you did it right, they wouldn’t notice at all. The point was to appreciate what nature had wrought and dedication had polished. Mr. Heroic Jaw was _very_ dedicated and it _showed_. She had no intention of telling him that he made her thrice-weekly stint on the treadmill just a touch less excruciating, but she valued him all the same.

(He was not tabled in her ‘pro’ column on her “Reasons to stay in D.C.” graph. Really.)

…

Three weeks later, Darcy was hitting up Starbucks when she ran into Mr. Heroic Jaw. Not literally: he was ahead of her in the line. She studied the back of his head for a good three minutes, trying to determine whether or not it was him - it was much harder to tell when he was wearing office clothes and not gym ones. Then he turned his head and looked her _right in the eye_.

She was surprised to see _recognition_ on his face, and then they did the shared head-nod thing that passing acquaintances did, the mutual – “I don’t know you but I _know_ you” thing. He turned back towards the register after giving her a brief smile (the heroic jaw combined with his white teeth was rather effective) and that, she figured, was the end of that.

He was already gone by the time she got to the register, which was also when she found out that he’d paid for her coffee.

It was the most enjoyable latte she’d had in weeks.

…

“It’s a really good opportunity,” Jane admitted.

“It is,” Darcy agreed, carefully juggling phone, jacket, and purse as she wove through the varied people in suits and Suits. The Triskelion was very _official_ looking. Even the email they’d sent her with the interview details had had a seal on the bottom: the official seal of SHIELD.

“I’d miss you.”

“You – oomph!” she grunted as somebody bumped into her from behind, _hard_. “Call you back,” she told Jane, then clicked ‘end’ and turned on her heel, prepared to lay a verbal smackdown on whomever – oh.

“I am so sorry about that, miss,” Mr. Heroic Jaw said, looking just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

“It’s… it’s okay,” she said. “And, um, thanks for the coffee.”

Mr. Heroic’s jaw dropped. “That’s my soulmark,” he told her.

She’d been apologized to too many times to have gotten excited when he’d done it just a moment prior, but she did a double take at that. “Seriously? Well, um. Hi, soulmate,” she said, grinning at him in what was probably a rather stupid manner.

“Hi,” he said back, smiling – and if she looked as dopey as he did then they made quite the pair.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Darcy asked hopefully. “I’ll treat this time… actually, just curious, but with a soulmark like the one _I_ gave you how often _have_ you bought random people coffee?”

He looked a cross between sheepish and longsuffering. “ _So_ many times.”

“Then I’m definitely treating,” she decided. “That is, if you can…?”

“I – “ he looked over her shoulder and she turned, following his gaze, to see a small group of men in tactical gear watching them. “Just let me go update my, ah, my boss. I’m sure he’ll let me have the day when I explain the situation.”

“Want me to come with?” Darcy asked. “I can present proof? Your mark is on my stomach – “

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, just let me – “ he tilted his head and gave her another bright smile before trotting over to the jackbooted thugs. She studied them, a little surprised that her suit-wearing soulmate reported to the one of the much more obviously military dudes. This was SHIELD though, so she probably shouldn’t be startled. Her soulmate – she really needed to get his name – turned back to her after a minute or so of quick discussion, beaming.

“Shall we?” he asked when he reached her again.

“We shall,” she replied. “But first, what’s your name?” _Can’t keep calling you Mr. Heroic Jaw…_

“Oh, right. I’m Brian, Brian Smith.”

“Darcy Lewis – now, to the coffee!”

…

On their first date, Darcy learned that Brian had been in the Secret Service before SHIELD recruited him, that he liked classic video games, and that he’d majored in psychology in undergrad. On their second date, Darcy learned that Brian wanted kids, didn’t vote as often as either of them thought a government worker should, and that he kissed like a dream. Their third date had to be postponed because Jane experienced a science emergency and Darcy was the only one who knew how to fix the machine that had broken. Technically speaking, Stark probably could have done it, but Jane viewed Stark with the same level of suspicion that dogs did strange cats. Besides, she _missed_ Jane – taking a sudden trip to New York to dig her bestie out of the science hole she’d dug herself into (especially when the trip was on Tony Stark’s dime) wasn’t exactly a hardship.

She was getting ready to return when JARVIS interrupted her and brought up the newsfeed on her wall. Captain America, arrested? It was strange enough that Stark put the Tower on lockdown. Darcy shrugged, texted Brian, and decided to help Jane till the storm blew over. If Captain America was being arrested it was a hoax, a publicity stunt, or not _actually_ Captain America (and her money was on the last option), so she wasn’t _too_ worried.

The next day, SHIELD fell.

Three days later, Darcy learned that Brian was on the casualty list. She asked Tony – because she had to call him by his first name now that he’d held her while she cried – not to tell her whether or not Brian ended up being on the bad side of the _other_ list. It wasn’t information worth having.

(And she was pretty sure she knew anyways.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Darcy/Steve/Clint: requested by Cinnie.
> 
> 2\. Darcy/Peter Quill: requested by Skyla, Holly, Insomnia_in_Portland, TheGroupofOne, and voidwitch.
> 
> 3\. Darcy/Namor: requested by katdemon1895. I did a good deal of internet research for this one, hopefully I did him some sort of justice. I made him Susan's platonic bestie because it amused me to do so, and also as recompense to the poor woman for saddling her with Reed and Victor again. FANCASTING! My requirements in my search were that the guy 1. not be a white man named 'Chris' and 2. have strong eyebrow game.
> 
> Jason Momoa  
> 
> 
> Hrithik Roshan  
>   
> Daniel Henney  
> 
> 
> Visualize whichever one you want in the ficlet, I left it somewhat vague.
> 
> 4\. Darcy/Elektra/Daredevil: requested by Acheron, and a bunch of you after the Darcy/Daredevil ficlet in the first shuffle chapter. Both of them came up in the same shuffle, so I sort of HAD to connect them… My knowledge of these two characters comes primarily from the films, so this is set somewhere post _Daredevil_.
> 
> 5\. Darcy/Galaga Guy: requested by RoseFyre. *cringes* Yes, I did make Galaga Guy a Hydra agent. I didn't set out intending to do that, but when I looked up other things the actor has been in (trying to find something to call him), I saw that he'd been a secret service agent/villain in _24_ and, well, the rest is history.


	35. iPod shuffle (life your hands and voices)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Talk Dirty to Me" by Poison
> 
> 2\. "Where You Are" by Whitney Houston
> 
> 3\. "Easy Living" by Billie Holiday
> 
> 4\. "This Magic Moment" by The Drifters
> 
> 5\. "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, at least one character I'm not super familiar with (the general impression I've gotten of him is Ego/Snark of Stark + Seriousness of Rogers + Mystical Powers = Doctor Strange. Anywho, I just wanted some Friday night fun, so I threw my iPod on shuffle and shuffled the requested pairings. This is the result, hope you enjoy!

**1\. “Talk Dirty to Me” by Poison, pre-Thor**

“Ms. Lewis?”

She turned to find an extremely bland-looking man in a dark navy suit giving her a mild smile. Darcy was instantly alarmed. “… Yes?”

“I’m Agent Coulson,” he flipped a badge open, showing her his name and his affiliation with an agency called ‘SHIELD,’ then flipped it shut again. “I’m going to need to ask you to come with me, it’s a matter of national security.”

She stared at him. “I’m not sure what they told you, but downloading songs does not a terrorist make.”

“That depends on what you’re listening to,” he told her. “You’re not in any trouble, Ms. Lewis, but – if it will ease your mind, this should only take a few hours. I will be happy to return you to your dorm in exactly the condition you are in right now.”

“I… I’m going to call my dad,” she said slowly, trying to study his face for a reaction (there was none). “Then, sure? I guess? But, people _will_ miss me. Just saying.”

“Noted,” he said, then folded his arms and stared at her expectantly.

Darcy slid her phone out of her pocket, never once taking her eyes off of Agent Nondescript. She dialed and briefly explained to her dad what was going on (“Strange government dude, wants me to go with him”) and that she should be able to call again in a few hours (“Then and _only then_ are you allowed to call in Uncle Bryan, okay?”) and that she wasn’t in trouble (“No, I have not broken any laws recently. Nor do I plan to. No I am not going to ask about aliens, dad! Do you _want_ me to be disappeared?!”). After that was finished, she slipped her phone back into her pocket, sighed, and turned back to the agent. “Ok, all set.”

She kind of got the impression that he was trying not to crack a smile. “This way, Ms. Lewis.”

“Call me ‘Darcy’,” she insisted, gamely following him to a nondescript and therefore _super sketchy looking_ black SUV. He got in on the driver’s side and motioned for her to take the passenger seat. She tried to surreptitiously turn and look to see if there were any spooks sitting in the back, but it was just the two of them. “So,” she said after they’d been driving a few minutes, “you wanna tell me what’s going on, or do I get to fiddle with the radio?”

This time he _definitely_ smiled. A little. “Your soulmate, Darcy.”

Her eyes went wide. “Is he a criminal?”

“Not exactly,” he said, and then motioned her towards the radio controls.

She huffed, regretting that she had given him the radio option, and set it to the most bubbly, over-the-top, pop station she could find. Forty minutes later, they were _both_ singing along to Britney Spears’ “Hit Me One More Time,” and Darcy was almost sad when the car slowed, pulling over into a Waffle House parking lot.

“We’re here,” Phil – he’d given her leave to use his first name after they bonded over nineties boy bands – told her, unnecessarily.

“Looks like,” she agreed, staring at the yellow sign.

Phil sighed, “Darcy, it took a great deal of maneuvering to arrange this, but you have to actually _go inside_.”

She nodded and jumped out, fiddling with her purse as she followed him into the restaurant and towards a table in the back, where a man was sitting. Even sitting, she could tell he was tall. He was also bald, black, and had an eyepatch and a goatee, which might explain why her first words to her soulmate were, “I thought Pirate Day was in September?”

The man looked startled for about a millisecond, then resigned as he turned to Phil and told him, “You’re an interfering bastard. Also, fired.” Then he turned back to her and sighed. “You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?” he asked, not looking entirely opposed to the idea.

Darcy beamed at him, delighted when he gave her an answering, thin-lipped smile. “With words like that, what else could I be?”

**2\. “Where You Are” by Whitney Houston, post CA:tWS/post season one of AoS**

Darcy kind of wanted to protest when Clint dragged her from the lab, but it was less because she was pissed and more the principle of the thing. “I have work! Actual work, not shooting medieval sticks into futuristic baddies! Hey! I am _talking_ to you!”

“What?” Clint cupped his free hand (the other one still had a firm grip on her wrist) around his ear and then _very obviously_ turned his hearing aid off.

“You’re a prick,” she muttered as they waited for the elevator. She continued to mutter curses and imprecations about his self, hygiene, dress sense, life choices, and lineage as the elevator ascended. “… and crabs, but arms too short to reach!” she was finishing as the doors opened.

Clint pulled her after him into the communal kitchen where a bunch of people she didn’t know, as well as Coulson, Steve, and Tony, were all sitting and eating. He flicked his hearing aid back on and then dragged her over to a petite (but probably still taller than Darcy) brunette with big brown eyes and a mouth made for smirking. “Trouble,” he said, indicating the strange woman, “meet Mischief,” he continued, pointing at Darcy.

“You are the _worst,_ ” Darcy told him, then turned to the woman and stuck out a hand. She easily mustered up a smile since it wasn’t this poor lady’s fault that the archer was _deranged_ (pun intended). “Hey, it’s nice to meet you, whoever you are, and _yes_ , he’s always like that.”

The brunette’s mouth dropped open into an ‘o’ of shock. “Holy shit,” she squeaked. “It’s you!”

Darcy blinked. “Oh, oh _whoa_.”

“Wait, wait wait _wait_ ,” Clint interrupted, wide-eyed. “You two are - ?! And I just introduced you?!” He slumped against the table and stuck his head in his hands. “I don’t know whether to congratulate myself, or start running for the hills.” He lifted his head, “Wanna join me, Phil? I’ve got a farm. We can probably survive pretty well while those two wreck the world.”

Meanwhile, the two women completely ignored him.

“I’m Skye,” Darcy’s _soulmate_ said, beaming.

“Darcy,” she returned. “It’s… really great to finally meet you.”

“Yeah,” Skye said, eyes looking a little teary. “What took you so long?”

**3\. “Easy Living” by Billie Holiday, pre-Thor**

Darcy had grown up with parents who were not soulmates. They’d both found and lost theirs: her father lost his to illness, when they were young; her mother lost hers to a bottle, and eventually a car accident. They made sure to tell her all about the ways that having a soulmate could be beautiful and wonderful, but she knew – the way many kids didn’t – that it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Her dad would get this look on his face, sometimes; his fingers absently tracing the handprint that wrapped around his wrist. Her mom was worse: she wouldn’t get sad, she’d get… not quite mad, but _pinched_. It still hurt them both, even years later, even though they loved each other and their children.

She wasn’t sure she was prepared for that kind of pain.

She _definitely_ wasn’t prepared for Jane.

“Who’re you?” the tiny woman with bright brown eyes snapped, keeping her body in the doorway as if she thought Darcy might barge in otherwise.

“Wow,” Darcy said, about six hours of travelling past having time for this bullshit. “You always greet people so nicely?”

“Oh,” the woman said, falling back a step.

She immediately took the opportunity presented to her and stepped into the converted lab space, dropping her bags with a soft ‘oof’ and reveling in the air conditioning. “These the digs?” she asked, looking around. They weren’t bad, nowhere near as awful as she’d feared from the vague description in the application.

“Are you - ?”

Darcy turned to find the tiny woman – Dr. Foster, she assumed – staring at her with wide eyes. “Yeah?”

She tugged her shirt up, showing the words, _Wow. You always greet people so nicely?_ on her stomach.

“Oh my god,” Darcy said, staring. “Oh. Oh _shit_ , does this mean I can’t intern for you anymore?”

Jane burst out laughing, and just like that the tension and the awkwardness was broken. Somehow, it never came back. Somehow they worked, _it worked_ , and it wasn’t Disney fairytale perfect, but it wasn’t the tragedy Darcy’s parents had experienced either. It was… it was easy. It wasn’t movie-perfect, but it was _their_ perfect, and that was more than enough.

**4\. “This Magic Moment” by The Drifters, post T:tDW**

Darcy was against experimenting with the Tesseract on principle. Also, based on experience, because the damn thing had opened portals to some _seriously_ shady places. She was pretty okay with the latest, though, since it spat out a hot, tweedy, librarian-looking British dude. Of course, Tony and Jane were both flailing over the controls and arguing with each other and with the second person who had popped through the portal: a man obviously a few years younger than the Tweedy guy, one who clearly had ‘scientist’ written all over him.

“I object to the ‘tweedy’ descriptor, madam,” Tweedy told her, having gone from staring in puzzlement at the palm of his hand to pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and looking rather pale.

“I object to the ‘madam’ descriptor, _dude_ ,” she shot back. “It’s Darcy or GTFO.”

He jolted, staring at her with very big, very _blue_ eyes. _~You wouldn’t happen to have a soulmark with words to that effect, would you?~_ he asked, via freaking _telepathy_. His eyes were seriously intense, and very blue, and focused on her so sharply that it almost felt like literal pinpricks on her skin. The eyes were almost enough to distract her from the _telepathy_. Almost.

“Out of my head, bucko, and no – no soulmark,” she told him. She was pretty much over it, at this point.

“Are you _certain_ ,” he asked her. “Because those words are rather distinctive, and I did not have them before your friends kidnapped me from my home with their bright blue box. I do not, in fact, know exactly what ‘GTFO’ means.”

Darcy laughed and turned to grab her tablet, planning to introduce him to the wonders of Urban Dictionary. Then she froze when she saw something bright red and scribbly on her arm that hadn’t been there before. “Um,” she squeaked, turning and finding that Tweedy had moved so he was _right in front of her_. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the red on her arm, though, not even when he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist to turn it so they could see the entirety of the _I object to the ‘tweedy’ descriptor, madam._ in graceful cursive.

“My name is Charles,” he said, smiling brightly.

“Darcy,” she returned, dazed. “So, telepathy? How does _that_ work?”

His eyes lit up even _more_ , if that was possible, and he grinned. “It’s a mutation, a pretty groovy one, if I do say so myself…” _~It’s lovely to meet you, Darcy, even if I had to cross into an alternate dimension to do it.~_

**5\. “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Leppard, post CA:tWS**

By the time they were able to bust Darcy out of the cocoon-web-box- _thing_ , it was too late. She fell out of it, panting, and they could only watch as the glow that had suffused the deceptively delicate-looking structure was sucked into her skin. Darcy pushed herself to her feet, shaky like a newborn filly, and ran trembling hands all up and down every inch of skin she could reach. Her breath hitched at every strange new thing: her ears were pointed now, and her skin had a soft shimmer to it. The Avengers, to her eyes, were all backlit by an odd glow, each a slightly different mix of colors. None were so bright as the one that surrounded the strange man who stood, arms folded, beside them.

She stared at him, frowning because the light was so vivid. Darcy felt relief like a cool balm as soon she recognized him. “Please,” she said, voice huskier and sweeter-sounding than it had been before she was kidnapped by those stupid _fucking_ fairies. “ _Please_ tell me you can fix this.”

Doctor Strange’s expression went from the easily recognizable (she worked with scientists, after all) ‘ooh, look, a new puzzle!’ to ‘oh shit, we’re all screwed’ faster than Cap could demolish a Krispy Kreme. He shook his head, wordless, and backed away a few steps, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. _Well, that's definitely Not Good_ , Darcy thought, and felt fear come swooping back in.

Natasha stepped forward, towards her, reaching out. “We will do all we can, Darcy.”

She nodded, trying not to cry - with the way her luck was running, her tears would be sparkly jewels or something. “Okay,” she said, and attempted a smile. “Um,” she looked down at herself, more specifically at the shreds of cloth that were all that was left of the jeans and sweater she’d been wearing when those stupid Sidhe nabbed her. She was still decent. Barely. “Can we get me clothes, and then work on fixing me?”

There was a soft muttering and then something thick and soft fell on her head. Darcy grabbed at it instinctively, pulling the cloak – a cloak, really? – around her shoulders and then tugging it so that it wrapped around her. It was a very dark blue, made of some fabric she didn’t recognize, but was soft and warm and infinitely better than being almost naked. 

“Thanks,” she said, nodding to Doctor Strange, who seemed to have calmed down from his momentary freak out.

He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again: “The blue suits you,” he said, then looked like he was kicking himself.

Darcy stared at him because suddenly _she_ wanted to kick him. “Well,” she said evenly, “that’s certainly… interesting. I will definitely want to talk to you about that later. Preferably _after_ we de-magic me, assuming that’s possible.”

“If it is not, I can help you with any new powers you might develop,” he offered, stepping forward.

“I will probably take you up on that, but I’d really rather you just de-magicked me. And then took me on a date.”

“I… will see what I can do,” he said, nodding. He gave her a small smile. It was a _nice_ smile.

“Wait, what?” said Tony.

“ _De-magic first, soulmate talk later,_ ” Darcy insisted, unconsciously baring her teeth and newly-grown fangs.

"Riiiiight, lets do what the sparkly tree-topper says."

"Tree-topper? I'm not an _angel_ , Tony, it's not like I have - " she shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "Please tell me I don't have wings."

"You don't have wings," Clint said immediately.

"You don't have wings," Steve said a beat later, _much_ more convincingly.

"Thanks, Steve."

"Hey!" Clint squawked.

"I think," Doctor Strange - she really needed to find out what his first name was, unless his first name was Doctor? - interjected smoothly, "that we should consider moving to a more defensible position before the Light Court realizes we have found, and taken, their newest member. No matter how unwilling that member might be, they _will_ take offense."

"Good idea," Darcy said, attempting a real smile. It felt weird with the fangs, but he didn't seem to mind.

He held out a hand for her and the instant she took it she was swept up by his magic.

 _I never thought that **I** would end up being the fairy in my fairytale adventure,_ Darcy thought. _Could be worse. Probably._

And, of course, because she had thought _that_ , when they landed back at Stark Tower they found it under attack by the Dark Court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Darcy/Nick Fury: requested by LilRed7503, fox_lover, Kaleb, steampunkunicorn, mudpuddledemon, Saj_te_Gyuhyall, AviMavi, Beyl, Cirrat. I have no idea why this idea was so popular, but *shrugs*. Basically, Phil was annoyed by Nick's determination not to meet his soulmate, and hunted Darcy down via her handwriting. I imagine that she and Phil team up to drive him up a wall.
> 
> 2\. Darcy/Skye: requested by Saj_te_Gyuhyall. They would cause _so much mayhem._
> 
> 3\. Darcy/Jane Foster: requested by Anon, Ihateallergies. I will probably do more with these two at some point, because I love them. It will probably end up Thor/Jane/Darcy endgame, though. I am suddenly attached to the idea of Thor and his two Queens.
> 
> 4\. Darcy/Charles Xavier: requested by Pom Rania. This time I threw Chuck into the future!
> 
> 5\. Darcy/Doctor Strange: requested by Pom Rania, katdemon1895. Again, apologies if I mucked anything up too badly. I imagine that the shock of seeing a brand new Changeling, combined with meeting your soulmate, would be pretty severe.
> 
> **THIS 'VERSE HAS OFFICIALLY SURPASSED 150,000 WORDS WITH THIS UPDATE. @_@**

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  * [Ring Them Bells](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029883) by [sergeant_angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_angel/pseuds/sergeant_angel)
  * [Xenolith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156546) by [FanficAllergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/pseuds/FanficAllergy), [RoseFyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFyre/pseuds/RoseFyre)
  * [Handwritten on Your Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275496) by [RoseFyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFyre/pseuds/RoseFyre)
  * [The Beat of Our Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289413) by [kiwigirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwigirl/pseuds/kiwigirl)
  * [ink my skin with your name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323568) by [bee_kind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_kind/pseuds/bee_kind)
  * [the relative height of a man in space as compared to his height on earth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324807) by [bee_kind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_kind/pseuds/bee_kind)
  * [These Words are Knives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529152) by [CinnaAtHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart)
  * [A Christmas Soulmate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556557) by [Caiti (Caitriona_3)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/pseuds/Caiti)
  * [Be Near Me Now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754022) by [CinnaAtHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart)
  * [Words of Revolution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993737) by [FanficAllergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/pseuds/FanficAllergy), [RoseFyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFyre/pseuds/RoseFyre)
  * [count on me, count me in](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5890165) by [bee_kind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_kind/pseuds/bee_kind)
  * [It's a Secret No One Knows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8329378) by [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi)
  * [Unrequited, Unabashed, and Unwavering](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8625232) by [FanficAllergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/pseuds/FanficAllergy), [RoseFyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFyre/pseuds/RoseFyre)
  * [you'll shoot your eye out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037964) by [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi)
  * [playing god](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092972) by [ncds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncds/pseuds/ncds)




End file.
